


Next to you the sky is more blue

by weethreequarter



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkwardness, BAMF Sharon Carter (Marvel), Background James "Rhodey" Rhodes/Sharon Carter, Depression, Dissociation, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Food Issues, Grief/Mourning, Howard Stark's Bad Parenting, James "Rhodey" Rhodes is a Good Bro, M/M, Maria Stark's Bad Parenting, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Steve Rogers is bad at self-care, The Stark's were not good people, meet ugly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:21:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 39,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26677333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weethreequarter/pseuds/weethreequarter
Summary: There was something about abandoned buildings and the way nature was slowly reclaiming them as its own which had long captivated Steve. The beauty of the former grandeur undiminished, merely transformed. There was an atmosphere to them, a lingering sense of the lives lived or the jobs worked within their walls which made him feel oh-so small and yet so alive all at once. No two were ever the same, and he loved discovering little clues that told the story of the people who once called it home or made their living there.There was something comforting about seeing the imprints of humans long gone; no matter who you were, there was a part of you, of what you made, of who you were that left its mark upon the world.Over the years, he’d been to a lot of abandoned houses, factories, mansions and they’d all left an impression on him in some way or another. But none as much as the Mermaid House.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 101
Kudos: 111





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the tags and the Chose Not to Warn. They are there for a reason. If you're unsure, feel free to ask for more details before reading. Take care of yourself, wonderful people.
> 
> Huge thank you to [dreaminglypeach](https://dreaminglypeach.tumblr.com) for betaing this monster and for helping me work out the scenes which caused me grief. I couldn't have done it without you. 
> 
> All photos come from Pixabay, Pexels, and Unsplash.

## The Stark Mansion

 **The Stark Mansion** is a mansion built by American businessman Howard Stark in 1978 in the Hollywood Hills. Stark and his wife, Dr. Maria Stark, lived in the house from its completion to their deaths in 2011. Due to its decor, the mansion received the nickname ‘The Mermaid House’. 

##### History

In 1977, Howard Stark bought the land following his marriage to socialite and renowned marine biologist Maria Stark, intending for it to become the home for their future children. The house was completed in October 1978 and the couple moved in. The decor was heavily influenced by the ocean, and the house gained its nickname ‘The Mermaid House’ as a result of the famous parties held there, where the Starks would hire performers to act as mermaids in the giant swimming pool. Their eldest son, Arno, was born in the house in 1988.

Following Arno’s diagnosis with Tay-Sachs, Howard Stark withdrew from public life, working from the mansion and leaving the everyday running of his company to CFO Obadiah Stane. Arno Stark died in 1992, turning Howard into a recluse, living at home with his younger son, Tony.

Following the Starks’ deaths in 2011, the house was inherited by Tony Stark, although he does not live in it. It has since fallen into disrepair. An attempt by Mariah Carey to buy it in 2015 for $15m was turned down with a statement that the house is not for sale. 

* * *

callmehavok  silverasshole47 greenpolaris Look where me and @callmehavok were today!  littleredwitch ohhhhh, nice!!! jealous!!!! @silverasshole47 queenrogue @greenpolaris where is that? It’s so pretty  greenpolaris @queenrogue It’s the Stark Mansion in the Hollywood Hills! It’s beautiful!  alltheprettycolourssparkle I love the mermaid house! Here’s one I took when I went there last year with @watchmyclawsx23 masterofdoom I thought you didn’t usually tell people where these houses are in case of legal disputes?  greenpolaris Usually we don’t reveal locations to try and protect these beautiful old buildings from thieves and looters but the Stark Mansion is pretty famous. Even someone who is unfamiliar with urbex would be able to recognise it.  silverasshole47 Plus it’s really fucking haunted so why would you want to hang around there anyway?  callmehavok Wuss  Source: greenpolaris #urbex#urban explorer #seriously tho the mermaid house is so fucking cool 721 notes 

* * *

“When did you last leave the apartment?”

Steve froze, a Red Vine hanging out of the corner of his mouth as he looked up at his roommate guiltily. Rhodey was staring at him, hands on his hips, with his _Don’t bullshit me, Rogers_ expression on his face. 

“Um, yesterday,” Steve lied.

“Don’t bullshit me, Rogers.”

Rhodey eyed Steve’s nest, his three-day old t-shirt and a half-empty can of Cheese-whiz with judgement clearly written across his face. A voice which sounded suspiciously like Bucky told Steve that he should care, but caring seemed like way too much effort. Effort he just didn’t have the energy for, despite sitting on his ass for the whole weekend. 

“I’m not,” Steve replied, even though he totally was. Or, as the voice which sounded suspiciously like Bucky said, he didn’t know when to stop digging. 

“At least shower,” Rhodey huffed. “And for the love of God, eat something with actual nutritional value. You’re going to get scurvy.”

Steve opened his mouth to tell him that he ate a banana on Tuesday, then realised that probably wasn’t going to help his case and shut it again, burrowing deeper into his blanket nest. He listened to Rhodey puttering around the apartment over the laugh-track from whatever show it was he was watching, no doubt getting ready to go out and meet his girlfriend. 

Steve frowned at the screen.

What _was_ he watching? He didn’t even recognise it. He must’ve zoned out for… a while, considering the end credits struck up as he watched. Which, okay, that wasn’t great, but it didn’t mean anything. And it wasn’t his fault. 

It was his stupid manager’s fault. 

She was the one who insisted he take a vacation. She was the one who said it was mandatory and that Head Office was demanding he take his allotted annual leave before it reset in six weeks. 

Steve didn’t want a vacation. Which was why he hadn’t taken any vacation days in the past year, because what did he need a vacation for? Sitting around the apartment in his boxers, watching shitty TV shows which couldn’t even hold his interest and eating junk food? Yeah, no thank you. That left too much time, time for thinking and dwelling on things he… really did not want to be dwelling on. 

“Look, Steve,” Rhodey called, jolting him out of his reverie. Twisting to look over the back of the couch, Steve found Rhodey hesitating in the apartment doorway, keys in hand. “Just… I don’t know. Take a walk or something? This can’t be good for you.”

“I’m fine,” Steve insisted.

Rhodey rolled his eyes. “Sure you are. I’m taking Sharon to the movies. See you later.”

“Bye,” Steve called. 

And then he was left in an empty apartment with only the sound of the over-cheerful jingles of dog food commercials as company. Steve sighed, picking up the remote and flicking through the channels before giving up and turning the TV off. The silence of the apartment pressed down on him.

God, he was tired. 

Steve glanced around the room and felt a wave of guilt. The place was a mess, and it was all because his lazy ass had spent the last three days on the couch because he just couldn’t deal with something as simple as a holiday. What kind of idiot couldn’t deal with taking a holiday? 

His eyes burned and he scrubbed the moisture from them, drawing a ragged breath in through his teeth. 

God, he was pathetic. Rhodey didn’t deserve to deal with this shit. Look at this mess. Steve was going to tidy it up, he decided, kicking off his blanket.

Then he surveyed the room and the enormity of the mess started to become clear. 

Steve sagged. 

Who was he kidding? He couldn’t clear this up. 

Steve dragged his hands over his face.

Hauling himself off of the sofa, he padded through to his bedroom which, in all honesty, looked like an extension of his sofa-nest. He should probably feel guilty about that. 

When he moved to LA, Steve made a to-do list every day. He was struggling, so the lists helped. In the beginning. Then one day, he just… didn’t. Which was okay. But then he just didn’t for the second day. Then a third. And a fourth. And then, he stopped even making the lists. He just… stopped. 

But he still had the final list pinned to his noticeboard.

_To do: laundry, vacuum bedroom, buy noodles, visit the Mermaid House._

To this day, Steve only did laundry when he literally had no clothes left and either couldn’t be bothered or couldn’t afford to buy new ones, the small areas of his bedroom carpet that were visible were so dusty they were a different colour from the day he moved in, there were _still_ no noodles in his kitchen, and he’d never been to the Mermaid House.

Steve stared at the list. Maybe… 

He couldn’t do laundry, because there was just too much; he’d need to do several loads and then dry them, before folding and putting away all his clothes once they were clean and no, just no. That was too much.

He couldn’t vacuum, because there was shit everywhere on his floor - including half of the laundry which needed to be done. So that was a no.

Buying noodles meant interacting with other people, even if it was only the cashier behind the counter at the local bodega. She was a nice kid, bright and bubbly, but chatty. Steve didn’t have the energy for dealing with chatty today. 

Which left the Mermaid House. 

He could do that, he guessed. He would have to get dressed, but he had one clean pair of jeans left and a couple of t-shirts which weren’t ready to get up and walk on their own so that was… possible. 

Opening his closet, Steve found his urbex backpack sitting in the bottom corner, resting on top of his steel toe-capped boots where he’d dumped them a year ago when he unpacked. It still contained everything he needed for exploring; cut-resistant gloves, bump cap, safety glasses and a dust mask, and a first aid kit. All of which he’d invested in after one too many incidents which landed him in the ER, and Bucky insisted that Steve needed to be more careful. Steve resisted at first, but then his mom agreed with Bucky and Steve caved instantly. 

Steve ran his hand over the backpack and wondered if it was worth it. 

Then he looked at the list, sitting there, taunting him, and decided it was time to tick something off. He grabbed his boots and his jeans, stripping out of his old t-shirt into a clean one. 

Once dressed, he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, hesitated over his bag of Red Vines before taking a bag of trail mix instead - Rhodey’s warning of scurvy ringing in his ears - and stuffed them into his backpack. Steve picked up his keys and felt his hesitation return as he reached the door. It would be so easy to turn around, sit back down on the couch and turn the TV back on. Going outside, driving up to Hollywood Hills, that took time and effort and Steve wasn’t sure it was worth it. The Mermaid House would still be there tomorrow. 

“Just fucking do it, asshole,” Steve muttered to himself, yanking the apartment door open and stepping outside.

* * *

There was something about abandoned buildings and the way nature was slowly reclaiming them as its own which had long captivated Steve. The beauty of the former grandeur undiminished, merely transformed. There was an atmosphere to them, a lingering sense of the lives lived or the jobs worked within their walls which made him feel oh-so small and yet so alive all at once. No two were ever the same, and he loved discovering little clues that told the story of the people who once called it home or made their living there. 

There was something comforting about seeing the imprints of humans long gone; no matter who you were, there was a part of you, of what you made, of who you were that left its mark upon the world. 

Over the years, he’d been to a lot of abandoned houses, factories, mansions and they’d all left an impression on him in some way or another. But none as much as the Mermaid House.

* * *

One of the tenets of urbex - at least for Steve - was never to force access to a property. Trespassing was one thing, but breaking and entering was another. Besides, Steve loved those properties; he wasn’t about to destroy them just so he could explore. To him, that defeated the purpose of the whole thing.

But gaining access to the Stark Mansion wasn’t going to be a problem; when Steve reached the top of the steps leading up from the garden, he instantly spotted no fewer than three possible entry points to the house. But as far as he was concerned, there was only one: the sliding door which led to the swimming pool.

The pool of the Stark Mansion was one of its most famous distinguishing features. Arguably the deepest domestic swimming pool, it began inside, sweeping through the room before snaking its way outside, under a foot bridge, and spreading across the terrace to overlook the gardens and the city below. The internet was filled with old photos of girls in mermaid costumes lounging by the pool during the Starks’ parties.

Steve pushed the door to the side and stepped into the house, pulling it all but closed again behind him and letting a grin stretch across his face because he was here, in the Mermaid House at last. It was one of the places he’d scoured the internet for pictures of for years, along with Beelitz-Heilstatten in Germany and Pripyat in Ukraine. 

“Holy shit,” he whispered with an excited little giggle. 

Steve pulled out his phone, snapping a picture of the famous pool and sending it to Bucky with the caption _Guess where I am?_ The water was green and murky, but even so it was obvious that this was no paddling pool. According to the building plans, the pool was almost eight feet deep at its deepest point. The architectural designs were a thing of beauty, in order to support the weight of that much water. He dipped the toe of his boot into the murky water, running it back and forth and watching the water swirl.

__

Steve pulled his mask from his backpack and slipped it on; there was a smell of damp which could be attributed to the giant swimming pool, but with his history of respiratory problems it was better to be safe than sorry.

__

Plus, Bucky didn’t care about the nine hour time difference or the seven and a half thousand mile between them and would call him up to yell at him over FaceTime if he ended up in hospital again. 

__

“Alright, where do I start?” Steve murmured, scanning the room and feeling excitement bubble in his gut for the first time in, well, in over a year. “No, you know what,” he decided. “I’m gonna leave this room for last.”

__

There were two spiral staircases in the room, one going down, probably to a basement of some sort, and one going up. Steve decided to head up. He grinned as he passed the bar with its golden taps, before reaching out and letting his hand trail over the bannister of the red painted staircase. Tipping his head back, he spotted two stained glass windows, one on the wall and one on the roof. Both features designs of mermaids, of course, and the California sun spilled through, bathing the floor in bright blues and yellows. 

__

Steve grinned but before he could step onto the staircase, a splash broke the silence. Glancing over his shoulder, Steve saw ripples spread across the pool. He frowned.

__

“Musta been a bird or something.”

__

Turning back to the staircase, Steve made his way upstairs with a thrill of excitement. He glanced into the first open door and instantly did a double take.

__

“Mr Stark, I do not think much of your taste,” he muttered, eyeing the bathroom decorated in gaudy stars and stripes. 

__

He continued along the hall until it splintered, three steps leading up to a group of four doors. The first room was empty with very little clues as to its previous use. The second had _Nursery_ spelled out in colourful wooden letters on the door, but inside the roof was all but gone due to water damage. The floorboards creaked ominously when Steve cautiously put a foot into the room. He quickly withdrew, choosing instead to scan the room from the doorway. The water damage was so extensive there were even plants growing in the moisture-laden floorboards. 

__

Steve turned to the next room, another bathroom, and found it had fallen victim to the water damage too, although not as seriously as the nursery. 

__

“That’s cool,” Steve murmured, taking a picture of the tiles surrounding the bath, mosaics depicting mermaids perched on rocks as the waves rolled onto the beach. The whole room was painted in blue, with seashells sitting on the window ledge. 

__

Turning to the final door, Steve’s eyebrows raised. In the same clown-themed wooden letters as the nursery, it read _Arno_.

__

Arno Stark.

__

The Starks’ eldest son. 

__

When he tried the door, it rattled against the doorframe. Locked. However, Steve grew up in an apartment which had the exact same doorknobs and he knew how to tweak them to make them unlock without a key. 

__

(It wasn’t breaking and entering, because he also knew how to lock them again. Technically speaking.)

__

With a flick of his wrist, the door swung open. Steve stepped forward and froze. Because with the exception of the thick layer of dust covering every surface, the room looked as though someone had just walked out of the door only moments ago. It was as though it had been frozen in time, with books lined on the shelves, toys in the boxes and even linens on the bed which was shaped like a pirate ship. 

__

“This is creepy,” Steve murmured. It was like… a shrine, left in memory of the little boy even though there was no one left to remember him - with the exception of his brother, Tony, wherever he may be. 

__

Steve backed out of the room, locked the door again, and shivered. 

__

He continued through the upstairs of the house, exploring the master suite, marvelling at the chandelier which hung above the entrance hall, and grimacing in horror at the room whose decor could best be described as the most hideous Hawaiian shirt Steve had ever seen. The worst part was the matching bathroom. He snapped several photos, both for himself and to send to Bucky, as he made his way through the house. 

__

Finally, Steve made his way down the main staircase into the marble-floored hall. 

__

“Alright. Which way…” he wondered. “This one,” he decided, setting off down the corridor to the left of the front door. 

__

It turned out to be something between a corridor and a conservatory. A bay window jutted out from the next room; through the glass, Steve caught a glimpse of a burnt orange carpet. At the end of the corridor, there was a toilet and a closet, then the final room opened out and Steve giggled to himself, tipping his head back to take in both floors of the library, sadly bereft of books.

__

“Okay. It’s official: I want a library,” he announced.

__

A wave of nostalgia washed over him as he realised that his mother would’ve loved this room. A lump pressed on his vocal cords as he imagined her curled up in an armchair in the corner of the room, her nose buried in a book. 

__

Steve released a ragged breath, forcing himself to move towards the spiral staircase in the corner, heading down to explore the wine cellar - which was bigger than his bedroom back at the apartment - to chase away the memories and creeping melancholy which threatened his good mood. When he returned to the ground floor, he hurried out of the library and returned to the entrance hall.

__

He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath, and had just turned towards the next door when a crash echoed through the house. Steve’s head snapped in the direction of the noise and he waited.

__

Nothing.

__

“Weird,” he muttered. 

__

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d interrupted vandals during an exploration, but Steve would rather avoid it if possible, especially since he was alone. If there was more than a couple of them, he would be seriously outnumbered, and that would lead to him ending up in hospital and Bucky yelling at him, because like hell Steve was going to let a group of assholes destroy this beautiful - albeit eccentrically decorated - building just because he was outnumbered.

__

When the silence stretched, Steve dismissed it as one of the many noises of a decaying house.

__

He continued in his exploration, discovering a room with a fake bookcase with “books” hiding secret shelves, a great room bigger than his whole apartment which was suffering from severe water damage, two kitchens - for some reason - and a dining room. 

__

As he made his way back towards the pool, something struck him: nowhere in the house was there any sign of a second boy having lived there. Other than a few photos he’d seen in the fake library and a painting in the ruined great room, there was no reference at all to Tony Stark, while Arno’s room remained enshrined to his memory. 

__

“That’s kinda weird,” Steve mused. Perhaps Tony Stark had removed his own belongings following his parents’ deaths, but it seemed strange that he would take them and nothing else, not even some of the paintings which Steve recognised as being by successful if not particularly famous artists. 

__

But then, Tony Stark seemed content to let this beautiful house fall to ruin rather than live in it himself or sell it on to someone who could restore it to its former glory. Now, Steve feared the damage was too extensive to restore. The Mermaid House’s days were numbered. And that was a disappointing realisation.

__

With that sobering thought, Steve returned to the pool room. He tried not to let the potential loss of such a large piece of Hollywood’s architectural history bring him down, and instead did his best to enjoy exploring. Off of the swimming pool was what remained of a billiard room. The table was gone, but the light fitting which would’ve hung low, illuminating the table through the fog of cigar smoke, still remained. The sunlight glinted off of the gold plating and the green glass. 

__

Making his way down the second spiral staircase, Steve found a shower room, no doubt for the Starks’ guests to change in, and a gym filled with exercise equipment which screamed of the eighties, so much so that Steve couldn’t help but smile. 

__

But it was the final room, innocuous from the outside with its simple wooden door, which left the biggest impression on Steve. The door was stiff, swollen in its frame, and needed his whole weight to coax it open. When it finally swung open, Steve’s jaw dropped, taking in the mahogany panelled wooden grotto, which looked like something out of an old sailing ship.

__

It was an office, that much was clear from the files and paperwork strewn across the desk. But most striking of all was the wall of glass beyond which was murky water. It looked into the swimming pool, Steve realised.

__

He pressed his palm against the glass, the cold leaching into his palm, but it was impossible to see anything through the layer of scum.

__

There was something creepy about the window, Steve decided. Something decidedly voyeuristic.

__

“You were a weird dude, Howard Stark,” Steve murmured, turning to investigate the wood panelling instead.

__

He was tracing the patterns with his finger when movement drew his eye towards the window again. Steve spun around, staring at the green-tinged water and fighting the foreboding trickling down his spine.

__

Nothing.

__

“It’s all in your head,” he muttered, shaking himself.

__

After all, there was no such thing as ghosts. 

__

Returning to the ground floor, Steve wandered towards the edge of the pool, sparing a glance towards the fireplace. He imagined the Starks or their guests lounging by the fire after spending an hour in the pool - although why anyone needed a fireplace in Los Angeles was a mystery to Steve.

__

Standing by the edge of the water, Steve turned to take a picture of the bar and the spiral staircases, hoping he could get some of the light from the stained glass windows in the photo too. The water lapped loudly against the edge and Steve glanced down.

__

“There’s nothing there,” he scolded himself. “Why are you being such a dumbass?”

__

He continued wandering along the perimeter of the pool, gazing up at the designs on the ceiling until something burst out of the pool and pain exploded down his leg. 

__

Steve crashed into the hard tiles of the floor, rolling away from the water and whatever it was that had just attacked him. Pressing his hand to his leg, it came away red with blood.

__

“What the-”

__

His words died on his lips as his eyes fell on the edge of the pool and the… man glaring at him, his teeth bared and a knife in his hand. A knife with Steve’s blood on it. But Steve was too busy staring at the man’s neck. Because there were gills on it.

__

At least, they looked like gills. But that was impossible, right? Because humans did not have gills.

__

Movement in the water finally drew Steve’s eyes away from the maybe-gills, and they widened when he realised he wasn’t looking at the man’s legs or feet. Because he didn’t have legs or feet.

__

He had a tail.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to [hello-shellhead](https://hello-shellhead.tumblr.com) on Tumblr whose amazing mer Tony art helped inspire me, specifically [this](https://hello-shellhead.tumblr.com/post/618022693567119360/hello-shellhead-another-mermay-drawing-where-i) piece which inspired Tony's eyes and gills.
> 
> The Mermaid House is actually based on a real abandoned house in England. Sadly, the pool is a figment of my imagination, although this house does have an incredible indoor pool. Any crazy decor comes from the real house, inducing the Stars and Stripes bathroom, which I thought was very fitting.


	2. Chapter 2

His hands were shaking as he disinfected the wound on his leg again, perched on the edge of the bathtub. Steve took a deep breath, hissing, “Motherfucker!” under his breath as the disinfectant stung the open cut, pain shooting up his leg. It wasn’t deep, the cut, but it was long. It ran from just below his kneecap, curving around his calf to an inch or so above his ankle.

Once he was satisfied the wound was clean, he began dressing it properly. Testing carefully, he still couldn’t put his full weight on it and probably wouldn’t be able to for a couple of days as the skin knitted itself back together. With a shaky breath, Steve stood up, clearing away the first aid kit and hobbled through to the kitchen.

“Shit, what happened to you?”

Steve jumped. His heart pounded in his ears as he spotted Rhodey standing in the doorway of his own bedroom.

“Uh, I got stabbed,” Steve replied absently.

Rhodey’s eyes widened. “You got stabbed?”

“Wha- No,” Steve shook his head. “I didn’t get stabbed,” he lied. “I, I slipped. Tripped. Taking a walk. Cut my leg open. I’m fine,” he insisted, grabbing a bottle of Dr. Pepper from the fridge and limping back towards his room. 

“You don’t look fine,” Rhodey called after him.

Steve closed his bedroom door, leaning against it for a second before hobbling over to his bed and collapsing. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes until he saw stars. Blinking until his vision cleared, Steve stared up at the faint watermark on his ceiling and whispered, “What the fuck just happened?”

* * *

Steve stared.

And stared.

And stared.

But no matter how much he stared, he couldn’t quite convince his brain to believe his eyes. Even though he could quite clearly see the lines on the man’s - not a man, a creature? A thing? A being? - neck. Just like he could see the small patches of scales on his torso. Just like he could see the long, slim tail weaving through the dirty water of the pool.

He could see it all. He was still working on believing though. 

His mind was a jumble of _who-what-how-who-are-you-what-are-you-am-I-going-crazy-what-how-who_ but when he opened his mouth, what came out was, “You stabbed me!”

The man - creature? Thing? Being? - hissed, his eyes flashing. “Aren’t you clever?”

“Did you… Are you making a joke?” Steve exclaimed. He indicated to the blood seeping through his jeans. “Is this funny to you?”

“A dumb-ass human bleeding on my floor? Hmm… Yes.”

Steve blinked.

“Fuck you,” he snapped.

The man - creature? Thing? Being? - laughed humourlessly and gave him a lascivious wink. “Not even in your wildest dreams, honey. Now why don’t you piss off outta my house before I stab you again, hmm?”

“Your house?” Steve echoed. 

“That was the polite way of saying the get the fuck of here before I kill you.”

The anger he’d been suppressing for a year, the anger he hadn’t had the energy to deal with, bubbled in his gut. “Back off,” Steve snapped.

“Make me.”

“Asshole,” Steve spat. He felt his eyes burn with tears and he didn’t understand why he suddenly wanted to cry, but he did know that there was no way he was going to let this scaly dickhead see him in tears. Clenching his teeth, Steve dragged himself to his feet, his leg screaming in protest as the blood soaked his jeans. He laughed bitterly, because if he didn’t laugh, he was going to cry. 

“What’s so funny?” the man - creature? Thing? Being? - snapped.

“I shoulda stayed on the couch,” Steve shook his head. “I don’t know who you are or, or what you are, and I don’t care. You’re never going to see me again.”

“Good,” he called after Steve as he limped towards the door. “And if you tell anyone about this, I will kill you.”

Maybe it was a sign of his own problems, but Steve turned and glared at him and asked, “And how exactly are you going to do that? You have a tail and you’re stuck in a pool in the Hollywood Hills. You’re not coming after me. You can’t.”

Steve ducked out of the way just in time to avoid the knife which flew through the air, narrowly missing his head and embedding itself in the wall. Steve stared at the knife and distantly realised he should be freaking out, because if he’d been a few seconds slower, the knife would be sticking out of his eye. But he didn’t have the energy to freak out about it. The adrenalin crash was already beginning to hit. 

Steve turned back to the man - creature? Thing? Being? - and stared at him. He stared straight back at Steve, his chin lifted defiantly and his teeth bared, but there was, was that… fear in his eyes? 

Steve was too tired to deal with this. He wanted to go back to the apartment and curl up in his blanket nest and just… ignore the world and its grumpy assholes who threw knives at people and stabbed you in the leg. But even more than that, he wanted to go home.

A lump pressed in his throat.

“Nice to meet you,” he called, hobbling out of the house without a backward glance. 

* * *

Steve stared at the ceiling and wished he could fall asleep. But despite the exhaustion that had plagued him all day, now that it was dark outside and after midnight, he was wide awake and his mind seemed determined to focus on the incident at the Stark House. 

Were it not for the very real, very painful wound on his leg, Steve would’ve written the whole thing off as his imagination. The stress of the past year finally catching up with him and playing tricks on his brain, perhaps. But there was the cut on his leg, throbbing under the clean bandage and the shooting pain when he made the mistake of trying to lie on that side. 

It wasn’t real. 

It couldn’t be.

But at the same time, it had to be. 

How else was he supposed to explain it?

And there was something niggling at the back of his brain, like a toddler desperate for attention poking him in the ribs. With a sigh, Steve rolled over and grabbed his laptop. He winced when the screen burst into life and the brightness almost blinded him. Squinting, he tapped in his password and smacked the brightness button until he could see without the image being burned into his retinas. Grabbing his glasses from the table, Steve leaned his laptop against his steepled knees, opened the internet and googled _stark mansion_. 

There were the usual articles about the Stark family and the architectural publications gushing about the design, then the Tumblr and reddit posts from explorers. Steve scrolled through them, finding lots of posts about how the house was supposedly haunted, but nothing about the creature in the pool with a penchant for knives. 

Huffing, Steve reached back to adjust his pillows before switching to YouTube for videos made by other explorers. He skipped through the videos until he found the swimming pool, but there was never any sign of anything in the water. After watching four different videos with the same result, Steve sighed and admitted defeat.

He tipped his head back, staring at the watermark on his ceiling. When he turned back to his laptop, the video was still playing, now in the Great Room with its severe water damage.

Steve’s hand shot out and hit the space bar, freezing the video and giving him a blurry view of the portrait of the Stark family. He’d seen the same portrait himself just hours ago, but back then it was one of the less interesting items in the house as far as Steve was concerned. He was starting to regret that.

Leaning forward, Steve studied the blurry image, focusing on the face of young Tony Stark. A very familiar face…

“No. Can’t be,” he whispered.

But the artist was good, Steve realised. Howard and Maria Stark looked exactly like they did in any of the photos he’d seen over the years. So it made sense that Tony would also be painted accurately. Except it didn’t, because that looked like…

Opening a new tab, Steve typed _tony stark_ into Google Images and hit enter, his heart pounding as the pictures loaded. 

There were very few photos of Tony Stark. Certainly none as an adult; after all, it was well known the man was a recluse. Had been ever since his parents died. 

Steve scrolled down the page, eyes scanning the screen. He ignored the pictures of the portrait he’d seen, searching instead for something, anything, where Tony was older. 

Eventually, near the bottom of the page, he managed to find one. Howard sat with his arm around a fifteen year old Tony’s shoulders and Tony was glaring at the camera with a very familiar pair of eyes, which even then held a cocktail of hatred and fear. Importing the image into Gimp, Steve drew on a rough copy of his attacker’s facial hair then sat back and stared.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

It was him.

* * *

Steve landed on the grass with a soft _thump_ and winced when pain shot up his leg. 

“Ouch,” he muttered, straightening up and favouring his right leg until his wound stopped throbbing. He made his way up the garden, yanking open the door to the pool room and found the knife still sticking out of the wall where it hit the day before. 

“Yeah, that happened,” he sighed. He wiggled the knife until it came free from the wall and wandered towards the edge of the pool. “Hello?” he called. “I know you’re here. Where else are you going to be?

“I brought back your knife,” he added, placing it by the water. “Well, I pulled it out of the wall for you. Come on, I just want to talk.”

He moved back from the water; he might be giving Tony his knife back as a show of good faith, but Steve’s faith wasn’t that good. He was staying well out of stabbing range. 

The water rippled and the top of a head slowly emerged until two eyes glared at him. Steve raised his eyebrows. Tony rolled his eyes then raised his head and called, “I told you if you ever came back here, I’d kill you.” 

“My best friend always tells me I have no self preservation,” Steve shrugged. 

“Yeah, I’d buy that.” 

“I was hoping we could start over.”

Tony snorted. “Wow. That’s funny. Well done. Not a lot makes me laugh these days, so top marks.”

“I’m serious, Tony.”

Tony froze.

He looked scared, Steve realised. The big, bad… whatever Tony was, he was scared. Of Steve. It wasn’t a good realisation.

“Who told you?” Tony whispered. “How many know?”

“Nobody told me,” Steve replied. “I figured it out. You are Tony Stark, right?”

Tony nodded. 

Steve knew it, had known it since he recognised Tony in the portrait the night before, but even so, the confirmation was staggering. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, searching for the words, before settling on, “How?”

Tony shrugged again, looking anywhere but at Steve.

“Howard was obsessed with the idea of mermaids - which, you know, isn’t surprising, considering the most common depiction of them is beautiful women with big breasts and almost no clothes. That was very much his type - and when Arno died, he… broke. So Maria decided to make it all better,” Tony said sardonically. “She proved the existence of merpeople, and then she brought one home.”

“How old were you?” Steve frowned. As long as he could remember, he’d heard of Tony Stark as the biological child of the Starks. Which, if he was stolen from the ocean, was a terrifying thought. Just how deep did this deception go?

“Five.”

“Jesus.” Steve sat down, wincing as he crossed his legs, but remained firmly out of stabbing range. “And you’ve been here ever since?”

“As you oh-so kindly pointed out, where am I going to go?” Tony snapped, his voice wavering. 

Guilt washed over Steve. “Sorry. But what happened when they died?”

“You tell me,” Tony replied, leaning back in the water, his tail movements only just visible through the dirty water. “They left one day and never came back. I haven’t seen anyone since.”

“But, but someone must’ve known about you,” Steve frowned. “I mean, as far as the world knows, you’re alive but you’re a recluse. They don’t know about the… tail. Obviously. But people think you’re alive.”

“Well, if they know I’m here, they obviously don’t care.”

“Then how did you survive?”

Tony’s eyes drifted towards the windows. “Too stubborn not too, I guess.”

Steve laughed humourlessly. Tony’s words cut a little too close to home. “Yeah,” he sighed. “I know the feeling.”

Tony glanced at him and for a second, Steve felt a moment of companionship pass between them. Then it broke as Tony started coughing, his breath wheezing loudly.

“You’re sick,” Steve realised.

“Yeah, no shit,” Tony snapped. “It’s been ten years, and I wasn’t exactly getting the right kind of food before they died. Howard wasn’t interested in keeping me healthy. Only one thing he wanted me to be, and it was something I was _never_ going to be.” 

He started coughing again and Steve inched forward, his fingers twitching at his side. He was desperate to help, but what could he do? Glancing around the room, he made a decision.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he announced. Tony eyed him warily. “You don’t stab me, and I’ll help you get out of here. Somehow. I haven’t worked out how yet, but in the meantime I’ll help you get better and clear out some of this shit in the water. Deal?”

Tony was still watching him suspiciously. “Why would you help me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Steve shot back.

“Because you’re human. And humans are assholes.”

“I’m not denying I’m an asshole sometimes,” Steve grinned. “But I still wanna help.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“Then I guess I gotta prove to you that you can,” Steve declared. Climbing to his feet, he crossed to the edge of the pool. Instantly, Tony shot backwards. Steve tried not to take it personally. He knelt by the edge of the water, grimacing as the movement tugged on his knife wound, and held out his hand. “I’m Steve. Steve Rogers.”

Tony stared at him. 

Steve watched the emotions flit across Tony’s mismatched eyes: uncertainty, hope, fear, longing. Finally, he swam forward and reached out. His palm was warm when it touched Steve’s, gripping his fingers on the edge of too tight as he shook Steve’s hand.

“Tony,” he said. “I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but I’m not sure if it is yet.”

Steve grinned. He picked up Tony’s knife, ignoring the way Tony instinctively flinched away again, and held it out, offering Tony the handle. Tony swam forward, wrapping his hand around the handle slowly and lifting it from Steve’s hand with a frown on his face. 

“You’re weird, Steve Rogers.”

Steve shrugged. “So I’ve been told.”


	3. Chapter 3

“What the hell?” Rhodey exclaimed. 

Steve froze. Then the aluminium pole slipped out of his hand and he scrambled to catch it without dropping the rest of his purchases from Seven Seas Pool Supplies. Rhodey’s eyebrows moved even further up his forehead.

“Steve,” he said slowly, “What are you doing?”

Steve swallowed, hoping it didn’t look like he was floundering. “You told me to get a hobby.”

“Steve, our building doesn’t have a pool.”

“Yeah, I know,” he nodded. What was he supposed to say: I found a merman living in the pool of the Stark Mansion and now I’m trying to clean out ten years of shit from the water so he doesn’t die before I can figure out how the hell I’m going to get him out of there? 

Yeah. Steve wasn’t an expert at social interaction, and he didn’t know Rhodey that well despite living with him for a year, but he was fairly certain that wasn’t going to go very well.

“Are you doing okay, buddy?”

“Yeah, I’m great,” Steve lied. He wasn’t great, he was so far from great, but having a purpose, something to fight for, was invigorating. 

“Uh huh,” Rhodey nodded slowly. 

Steve offered him what he hoped was a confident smile. Then he almost dropped the pool cleaning supplies again when someone walked into his back.

“Oh! Sorry, Steve.”

“Hi, Sharon,” he smiled at Rhodey’s girlfriend.

“What’ve you, uh, got there?” she frowned, tilting her head.

“Pool cleaning supplies,” Rhodey replied. 

“I didn’t know there was a pool in this building.”

“Oh, there isn’t,” Rhodey said, fixing Steve with a suspicious look. “But Steve’s taking up a new hobby.”

“That’s right,” he nodded.

“Okay…” Sharon frowned. “Uh, we’re going for Thai food. Do you wanna come?”

Sharon was nice like that. She often invited Steve along, and Rhodey, because he was a good guy, bore it with good grace and never looked pissed off. Probably because by now he knew Steve was unlikely to agree. 

“Thanks, but I’m going to have an early night,” Steve replied. “I have to get up early tomorrow morning.”

“It’s Saturday. And you’re on vacation,” Rhodey pointed out. “Why do you have to get up early?”

“I’m going to the fish market in Long Beach.”

Now both Rhodey and Sharon were both staring at him suspiciously. Steve smiled, hefting the pool cleaning equipment further onto his hip. It wasn’t heavy; just unwieldy. 

“You’re going to the fish market,” Rhodey echoed slowly.

“Yeah. It opens at two am and closes at seven, so gotta get there early. Have fun on your date though.”

“Right,” Rhodey nodded. “Have fun with… whatever this is,” he added, following Sharon out of the door. 

“I will,” Steve called. He sagged in relief when the door closed behind them. “Shoulda left this in the car,” he muttered.

* * *

It was strange seeing three am from the other side, Steve decided. In the past few months, he rarely went to bed before three am, despite knowing that in the morning he would regret it. But when his alarm went off, he stabbed at his phone until it was silent. Yawning widely, Steve rolled over, his feet hitting the ground and jerking his eyes open. 

Fuck, it was early.

Part of him considered lying down again and going back to sleep. But another part reminded him that he needed to get down to Long Beach and visit the fish market before it closed.

Because he made a promise. And he always kept his word.

Hauling himself to his feet with a muffled groan, Steve shuffled across the room and pulled on the jeans and t-shirt he’d shed the night before. A few minutes later, with a travel mug full of the strongest coffee he could make and his keys in hand, Steve trudged down to the street, climbing into his car and praying it wouldn’t object to the early hour. 

His car was temperamental at best and who knew what could set it off.

Thirty minutes later, he stepped into the bustle of the fish market. The floor was wet and Steve had to watch his step lest he injure himself further as he negotiated the ice-packed boxes looking for the items on the list Tony had reeled off to him the day before.

Within minutes, his lingering exhaustion was gone, replaced by fascination at this world so alien from anything he’d ever experienced before. Captivated, he watched an auction of the one boat’s catch with no clue what the auctioneer was saying, his voice echoing off the concrete floor over the beeping of forklifts and the chatter of buyers and sellers.

It was incredible. Mad, but brilliant.

Pulling himself away, Steve resumed his perusal of the boxes before realising he had no idea what he was looking for. He could probably pick out prawns, but how to tell the difference between saltwater and freshwater prawns, he had no idea. Nor did he know what the difference between halibut and pollock was.

“Excuse me,” he called to one of the sellers. “Hi. I’m looking for these,” he explained, handing over his hastily scribbled list. “D’you have any of those?”

He did, as it turned out, and Steve was soon loaded up with cod, pink salmon, and pollock, thanking the seller as he continued on his way. 

Twenty minutes later, he had everything on the list and his car had a distinct aroma of fish. It wasn’t even five am and the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon and turn the sky in a washed-out baby blue, but Steve experienced a sense of achievement for the first time in… well, probably since before he moved to LA.

Back at the apartment, he loaded the fish into the fridge then tiptoed back to his room and crashed on his bed to try and catch a few more hours of sleep. 

When he woke again, Steve pulled his boots on and filled his travel mug with coffee, collecting some of the fish from the fridge and tossing a couple of apples into the bag too. His own stomach growled, but making breakfast felt like too much effort for him. At the last minute, he grabbed a banana and shoved it into his backpack with his water bottle, then set off. 

He parked the car and made the now familiar trek up the hill to the back of the Stark Mansion, checking for anyone watching him before tossing the pool cleaning supplies over the garden wall and vaulting over it himself. Today he remembered not to land on his injured leg, so that was a definite improvement.

“Hey. It’s me,” he called, letting himself into the swimming pool. He dumped the cleaning supplies on the floor and pulled off his backpack. “Tony? I know you can hear me.”

The surface of the pool rippled, then Tony’s head popped up. “Steven.”

Steve fixed him with a look. “Nobody calls me Steven.”

“Maybe I call you Steven,” Tony hummed, drifting on his back. 

“Yeah, that sounds like the kind of thing an asshole like you would do.”

Tony sniffed. “Would you really say I’m an asshole? I don’t think I am.”

“Oh, so it was another merman who stabbed me in the leg then?” Steve retorted.

“Mer.”

“Huh?”

“Mer,” Tony repeated. “I’m a mer. Drop the man bit. Unlike humans, we don’t have the patriarchal need to have “man” in our species name.”

“Lucky you,” Steve nodded. “And I suppose it has nothing to do with the fact that mers are stereotypically female.”

“None at all. What’s in the bag?”

“Uh, I brought the cod today. And some prawns. And there’s apples in there too.”

“Good.” Tony swam forward. “Although, I swear to God, Steven, if you cooked that fish, I will-”

“Relax. I followed your instructions to the letter. Got up at two thirty am to follow your instructions.”

“Hey, you’re the one who offered to do this,” Tony snapped. “Don’t blame me.” 

“Eat your food,” Steve retorted, but there was no real heat behind his words. 

Tony swam towards the carrier bag, hopping onto the edge of the pool and rummaging inside. Steve tried not to stare, but for the first time, he could see Tony’s body clearly. It was… Well, it didn’t quite seem real. 

The small patches of scales Steve had glimpsed on Tony’s torso before were clearly visible now, eventually tapering into the scales of his tail. For the first time, Steve realised that although the majority of Tony’s scales were blue, there was the odd orange or red scale smattered throughout. Steve eyed them curiously, but he didn’t feel he could ask anything, not without Tony reaching for his knife, and he’d already proved terrifyingly skilled with that thing. 

But that wasn’t all Steve could see. He saw the skin stretched over Tony’s ribs, far too visible, no doubt due to the past ten years without proper food. He saw the unnatural tint to his skin, and even though Steve was unfamiliar with what a healthy skin colour for a mer was, he was pretty sure that wasn’t it. 

His eyes lingered on Tony’s gills on the right side of his neck and frowned. There was scarring over them, the flesh knotted and twisted where it had healed, and Steve wondered if it affected Tony’s ability to breathe. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Tony called and Steve realised he was staring. Embarrassment flooded his veins. Steve flushed, ducking his head and tried to ignore the way his throat felt like it was closing up. 

Instead, he picked up the aluminium pole and began trying to figure out how to attach the net. 

“Having trouble?” 

“Shut up,” Steve snapped.

Tony snorted, but he didn’t say anything else, much to Steve’s relief. Finally, he managed to attach the net, smiling triumphantly. 

When he looked up, Tony had unwrapped the cod and was slicing off thin strips of raw fish with his knife and dropping them into his mouth, one eye on Steve the entire time. There was a challenge clear in his gaze. 

“That’s disgusting,” Steve declared. Tony rolled his eyes, a knowing smile on his face. So Steve took great pleasure in adding, “That knife still has my blood on it. Don’t use it to eat your dinner.”

A burst of surprise burst across Tony’s face before he could school his features into a neutral expression. He rolled his eyes again, slicing off a long strip of cod and sucking it into his mouth like a piece of spaghetti. Steve swallowed his grimace because he refused to let Tony win. 

Instead, he picked up the net and moved to the edge of the pool to begin scooping out the debris from the water under Tony’s watchful eye. 

“You missed a spot,” Tony called. 

Steve glared at him. “You’re not helping.”

“Are you sure?” Tony smirked, tossing an apple in the air and catching it expertly. “It feels like I’m helping.”

“I hate you,” Steve muttered.

“Right back atcha, legs.” 

“What’s your problem with humans, anyway?” Steve snapped. 

“Gee, I don’t know,” Tony retorted. “Maybe because humans captured me, kidnapped me, trapped me, abused me and, oh, abandoned me. But other than that, not a damn thing.” 

With that, he slipped back into the water and vanished, leaving Steve with his guilt. Tony didn’t reappear for more than an hour, and when he did, he pointedly ignored Steve and instead sharpened his knife against the edge of the pool. 

Steve had always struggled with apologies, even though he’d been taught from an early age to stand up and admit his mistakes when he made them, especially if they hurt someone else. And clearly he’d hurt Tony - unintentionally, but still - and even his internal defence of _well, Tony’s a dick_ didn’t wash. Because of course Tony was a dick. Look at everything he’d been through, and Steve knew he’d only skimmed the surface. 

But apologising, standing up and saying _I messed up_ took effort. Steve paused, leaning heavily on the aluminium pole. Everything was so much effort. He was tired. His eyes drifted to the door. Maybe he should just go home and rest. He could come back tomorrow. After all, he’d brought Tony food, been to the fish market, and started picking debris out of the pool. That was a lot. 

Feeling Tony’s eyes on him, Steve turned. Sure enough, Tony’s mismatched eyes were watching him carefully. Defeat settled in Steve’s bones. 

“Uhh… I think…” he began. Tony watched him. Steve swallowed. “I’m gonna…”

But even the thought of quitting and giving up made Steve feel sick with guilt. He didn’t want to do nothing but he didn’t have the energy to carry on and he was tired, okay? He was really fucking tired, and he was so tired of being tired, but nothing seemed to help. 

Nothing helped.

His eyes burning with unshed tears - and why was he crying? It was so stupid - Steve dropped the pole on the floor with a clatter which echoed off of the tiles, and strode out of the door onto the terrace. Fisting his hands in his hair, Steve gazed out over the city below, blinking when his vision blurred. His breathing sounded ridiculously loud in his ears.

His head started to hurt from his grip on his hair, so Steve dropped his hands to his waist and let his head hang. 

“Fuck,” he whispered. 

He looked out over the city again. He was going home, he decided. Not home, back to the apartment. Yeah, he’d go back to the apartment, order food, watch TV and just relax. 

Steve nodded. 

Then he turned to go back inside, and found Tony perched on the edge of the pool, tossing individual prawns into the air and catching them in his mouth. He watched Steve with a calculating expression.

The silence stretched between them.

“So,” Tony said at last. “You leaving?”

Steve stared at him. 

_Humans captured me, kidnapped me, trapped me, abused me and, oh, abandoned me_.

“Not yet.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See that depression tag? It comes out in full force in this chapter so take care of yourselves.

When Steve’s alarm sounded, he was already awake but it still took him a good minute to roll over and switch it off. His phone fell silent, leaving nothing but the distant sounds of the traffic outside and the hum of the bathroom fan as Rhodey took his shower. 

Steve lay there, staring at the wall and tried to convince himself to move. 

He didn’t move. 

He glanced at the clock occasionally. The red numbers glared angrily, taunting him with every minute that passed. Steve just shifted further under the covers. He knew he should get up and get dressed, get ready to head up to the Stark Mansion as he had every day for the past week, but he just… didn’t. Couldn’t. No, he could; there was nothing stopping him from getting up. He just… didn’t. 

A voice nagged in his head, repeating _Get up, get up, get up_ on a loop and every time he ignored it, the guilt lying low in his gut grew stronger.

He couldn’t. He just… couldn’t. Not today.

But then the voice in his head reminded him that Tony was relying on him. Without Steve, Tony wouldn’t eat.

 _He’s survived this long_ , Steve thought angrily, then felt sick with guilt. What kind of terrible person would wish for someone to starve just because he couldn’t be bothered to get out of bed? Steve’s vision blurred and he buried his face in his pillow until the stupid and pointless tears disappeared. 

“I don’t want to,” he whispered childishly. 

But there was no one to answer. Because there was no one to hear. Because Steve was alone, except for a roommate who deserved better than dealing with Steve’s useless ass, and it was all his fault. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes until he saw stars. 

Letting his arms flop onto the bed, Steve stared up at the watermark on the ceiling. Then, finally, he sat up slowly, swinging his legs out of bed. The carpet felt sharp against his bare feet. He should feel some sense of accomplishment for getting that far, shouldn’t he?

He didn’t.

He felt like he wanted to lie down again and just forget everything, but he couldn’t do that. Because if he did, Tony would go hungry. And Tony didn’t deserve to starve just because Steve was a terrible person. 

It took him a few more minutes to actually stand up - or maybe it was longer, Steve couldn’t tell - and stumble across the room. He picked up the t-shirt and board shorts he’d been wearing to the mansion the past few days and pulled them on again, even though a distant part of his mind told him that he should wear something clean. That was… No. Steve couldn’t think about that, couldn’t make a decision about what to wear. It was too much. Suffocating. 

Tying the laces on his steel toe-capped boots sapped him of his energy, but Steve forced himself to keep moving forward. Robotically, he collected a bottle of water from the fridge for himself, then picked out some fish for Tony and tucked the small plastic container with the blanched vegetables in beside the fish. 

Steve’s stomach grumbled loudly, but he walked away without picking anything to eat. He just didn’t have the energy for that. 

The world was too loud when Steve stepped out of the building. Too loud and too bright. He pushed his sunglasses onto his face, despite the fact it was unusually overcast for LA, and crossed the street to where he’d left his car the night before. 

Driving actually helped. Some of the fog disappeared a little with all of his attention on the road and the unpredictable actions of the other drivers. But once he parked and started trudging up the trail which ran along the back of the Stark property, the fog descended again and it took everything Steve had to climb the wall. 

Finally, he made it to the house, letting himself in and pulling off his sunglasses once in the shadows of the house.

“Well, don’t you look chipper this morning.”

Steve glanced across the room, spotting Tony lounging in the shallow end of the pool, his chin resting on the edge of the pool and watching Steve with those annoying, calculating eyes of his. Steve didn’t have it in him to come up with a smart-mouthed retort, so he pulled off his backpack, yanking the zip open. Pulling out the fish and the plastic box of vegetables, he dropped them unceremoniously by Tony’s head, ignoring the way Tony flinched back.

What the hell did Tony have to flinch about? He was the one who stabbed Steve. Steve was just trying to help. 

“Ah, yes. Service with a smile,” Tony called sardonically.

Steve ignored him. He picked up the aluminium pole, still with the net attached, and turned towards the pool, ready to continue fishing out the trash and debris. But Tony was staring at him and irritation flared in Steve’s chest.

“What are you staring at?” he snapped.

Tony scowled. “I’d say your pretty face, but for that to be true, your face would have to be pretty in the first place.”

“Fuck you, Tony.”

“Only in your wildest, kinkiest dreams.”

Steve shook his head. “Just shut up, okay?”

“Yes, master. Of course, master,” Tony simpered, his eyes flashing as he bowed low in the water. “Whatever you fucking say, master.”

“You’re such a dick,” Steve muttered. 

“Well, that’s only to be expected,” Tony replied. “I mean, I did have such a sparkling example of humanity to look up to. No _wonder_ you made it to the top of the food chain. An example to us all.”

Steve tried to ignore him, since Tony seemed determined to be difficult. 

Unfortunately, Tony didn’t seem to get the message, swimming after Steve and getting in the way of the net every time he tried to scoop trash out of the water. Steve could feel the irritation creeping up his spine. 

“Would you back off?” he snapped. “Jesus Christ, just leave me alone!”

Tony’s eyes darkened. “Yeah, well, you’re good at that, aren’t you?” he hissed. “Being alone? Or did you think I was that stupid? Why else would you be here? Because you have no one else.”

Steve inhaled sharply, glowering furiously at Tony and wishing he had more control so he could hide how close to home his words struck. He felt his lips wobble and clenched his jaw. “You’re such a fucking asshole,” he ground out. “I don’t know why I’m wasting my time with you.”

“Because you have this pathetic need to please people because you think if you do, they won’t leave you even though it’s never worked before.” 

Steve stared at Tony.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. Drawing a ragged breath, Steve dropped the net and all but ran across the room towards the door. He jogged down the stone steps into the garden, his vision blurring and he felt numb, so numb, and yet somehow it still hurt, everything hurt. 

He hurried down the garden until he reached the tree house he’d noticed on his first visit to the mansion, taking the wooden steps in two long strides. He had to duck to get inside - it wasn’t built for someone of Steve’s height - but then he sat down in the middle of the first room. He let himself fall back until he was lying on the wooden floor and burst into tears. 

Steve cried and cried and cried, feeling as though someone had punched their way through his chest and ripped everything out with clawing fingers. Distantly he was aware of the almost inhuman noises he made as he sobbed, the pain and anger of the past year bubbling up in his throat, until finally he howled, “I want my mom!”

The silence pressed down on him, broken only by his own breathing.

Steve lost track of how long he lay there, staring at the ceiling as his tears tried on his face. For the first time since she died, he let it wash over him how much he missed his mother. Wrapping his arms around himself in a poor approximation of a hug, Steve rolled onto his side.

“I wish you were here,” he whispered. “I miss you so much. And I’m so angry that you’re gone. That you left me. You left me with nothing. I miss you so much.”

Eventually, a strange sort of calm settled over him. Rolling onto his back, Steve heaved himself up, sitting with his arms over his knees and taking in the tree house. Typical. Rich people's tree houses were better quality than the apartment he grew up in. The walls were insulated and there were even power sockets around the room. Steve shook his head in disbelief, but then he remembered that Arno Stark died at four and probably never even had the chance to use the tree house. 

And Tony certainly wasn’t able to use it. 

Tony.

Tony was a responsibility Steve didn’t want. But who else was there? Tony might’ve made it this long on his own, but Steve was painfully aware of the way Tony’s skin stretched across his ribs. Without Steve, Tony would die. A horrible, painful death. As much as Steve didn’t want that responsibility, there was no one else to take it on. 

Steve sighed, hanging his head. He scrubbed his hands through his hair and grimaced when he realised how dirty his hair was. Even before he’d decided to lie on the floor of an abandoned tree house. Sniffing his t-shirt, Steve wasn’t sure what smelled worse; him or his clothes. He couldn’t remember the last time he showered, and he’d been wearing the same clothes for a week. 

Guilt lingered in his gut, although Steve wasn’t sure what he was supposed to feel guilty about. Poor hygiene, he supposed. Not taking care of himself. Steve scrubbed a hand through his hair, wincing again.

“You’re disgusting, Rogers,” he muttered.

For the first time in a long time, Steve felt like he could breathe. He was still exhausted, and pretty much everything seemed insurmountable, but he could breathe.

Crawling out of the tree house, Steve set off up the garden again. When he entered the house, Tony looked up in surprise. Steve ignored his wide-eyed stare, crossing to his backpack and rummaging inside until he found the hand towel he’d stuck in there just in case.

“Steve?”

Ignoring Tony, Steve took the towel with him, crossing to the spiral staircase leading below ground. The shower room was in darkness, but Steve turned on the torch on his phone, and set it on the counter. It barely illuminated the room, stretching the shadows, but it gave him enough light to work. Crossing to the least damaged shower cubicle, Steve turned it on, standing back and letting the water run. For the first few minutes, the water was brown and dirt flecked, but it slowly cleared. It was still cold, but Steve didn’t care. 

He stepped under the spray, letting it soak through his clothes until they were sticking to him. He didn’t have any soap, but he scrubbed his hands over his body and his clothes, getting the worst of the dirt and the dried sweat off of his skin. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough until he could make it home for a proper shower.

When he was done, Steve peeled off his sodden shirt and patted himself dry using the towel. Picking up the towel and t-shirt, he climbed the stairs again. Again, he ignored Tony’s curious gaze as he stretched the towel and t-shirt out in the sun. Then, finally, he turned towards Tony, crossing to the edge of the pool and sitting with crossed legs.

“I think we need to talk,” Steve began, his voice rough even to his own ears. “I know you hate me. I don’t exactly like you either. But here’s the facts: you don’t have anybody else. No one knows you’re here but me. And even if they did, they’d probably want to lock you up in a tank somewhere or dissect you.”

Tony flinched, but Steve hardened his heart and ploughed on.

“You need me. And I think I might need you too. Which… really sucks because you are the worst. But we’re all the other has. So we’re going to fucking make this work. Alright?”

After a long moment, Tony nodded. 

“Good,” Steve sighed. “Good. Let’s do this.”

“You’re not moving,” Tony pointed out.

“Yeah, I know.” Gathering his strength, Steve hauled himself to his feet. “Okay. Right.”

“Wait,” Tony called. Steve turned and raised an eyebrow. Tony swallowed. “Why? I know you said all that stuff about how I need you but… Why?”

_Why me?_

“Too stubborn not to, I guess,” Steve quipped and Tony huffed.

“Yeah, alright.”

Steve managed a smile, bending to pick up the net again. Nothing had changed, not really, and everything still felt insurmountable, but he could breathe. He stuck the net into the water, running it along a few feet then lifting it clear of the water to dump the debris and weeds out of the net. To his surprise, Tony popped up beside him, and in his hands were two water-filled plastic bottles from the bottom of the pool. 

“If you’re keeping me alive, I figure the least I can do is help,” Tony muttered. 

A grin spread slowly across Steve’s face, growing when Tony scowled and added, “Don’t ruin it, Rogers,” before diving back underwater.

Steve chuckled. 

Then he took a deep breath and carried on. 

The day was long and dragged, but with Tony helping pick the garbage from the deepest parts of the pool, it seemed a little less challenging. By the time Steve called it a day, they’d managed to remove most of the detritus from the water. It was an accomplishment, even if Steve struggled to feel anything other than bone-deep exhaustion.

“Not bad,” he murmured, eyeing the pile of trash they’d built up. “Alright. See you, Tony.”

“Wait,” Tony called.

Steve paused.

“Can you do something for me?” Tony asked.

Steve’s heart sank. All he wanted to do was go back to the apartment, curl up in bed and sleep off his adrenalin hangover. Scratch that, he wanted to take a proper shower and then curl up in bed to sleep off his adrenalin hangover.

“Tony, I…”

“Please,” Tony interrupted. “Steve, just… Order a pizza. Please.”

“What?”

“When you get home, order a pizza. I can hear your stomach growling from underwater.”

Steve ducked his head guiltily. He didn’t want to see the judgement in Tony’s eyes. After all, Tony had no choice but to starve, and here was Steve, forgetting to eat because he had that luxury. The knowledge that when he decided to eat, there would be food there. God, no wonder Tony hated him.

“So, just, order a pizza,” Tony continued, “And eat… one third. At least. Please?”

“I’ll try,” Steve muttered.

“Thanks,” Tony said softly. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. See you.”

* * *

When he returned to the apartment, Rhodey’s room was empty and his keys were gone. No doubt out with Sharon, Steve realised, scrubbing his hand over his face as the weariness settled in.

Shower, then bed, he decided.

But then Tony’s voice floated into his head, asking him to order a pizza. Steve stopped. He could just… ignore Tony’s request and lie to him the next day. Except Tony would know, because apparently he could hear when Steve was hungry.

“Fuck,” Steve growled. With a huff, he found his laptop, opening the Domino’s website and placing an order for a plain cheese pizza because he couldn’t bring himself to decide what toppings he wanted. Then, finally, he stripped out of his dirty clothes and stepped into the shower to scrub himself clean.

The pizza arrived as he was drying his hair. Slinging the towel around his neck, Steve tipped the delivery guy and collapsed onto the couch. Exhaustion began to creep in and he managed to eat half the pizza before his eyelids started to dip. Putting the remainder of the pizza in the fridge for later, Steve stumbled through to his bedroom and fell face first into bed, where he slept soundly for the first time in a year.

* * *

When Steve climbed the steps to the Stark Mansion the next morning, he found Tony perched on the edge of the pool outside, leaning back and soaking up the sunlight.

“Isn’t that kinda dangerous?” Steve called. “I could’ve been anybody.”

Tony snorted. “Please. You sound like a herd of elephants. I’d know it was you from a mile away.”

“Your hearing might be good, but I doubt it’s that good,” Steve retorted, yanking open the door. He glanced over his shoulder when he heard a splash and Tony was gone. When he stepped inside, Tony was already there, leaning on folded arms against the edge of the pool. “It’s really irritating when you do that.”

“I thought everything about me was irritating?”

“Exactly,” Steve grinned. 

Tony’s eyes were still far too calculating, but Steve found it less grating this morning. Perhaps because he’d actually showered last night and shaved this morning, and he’d eaten two slices of cold pizza for breakfast so there was less for Tony to find lacking. Although why he cared about the judgement of a pissy mer, Steve wasn’t sure. 

“So, what’s the plan, boss?” Tony asked, his tail flicking lazily through the water. 

“The plan,” Steve replied, swinging his backpack off of his shoulder, “Is to figure out how the hell I’m going to clean this water. I mean, there are gallons of the stuff. I looked at those water vacuum things, but I don’t think it’s going to be strong enough.”

Tony hummed. “There is a filtration system.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I think it’s busted though,” Tony shrugged. “Hasn’t worked in years. There’s a room downstairs with the pump and everything.”

“I think I saw that.”

“Maybe if you take a look, you can figure out how to fix it?” Tony suggested.

“Maybe,” Steve nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

He jogged down the spiral staircase and found the room in question. Sure enough, inside there was what he guessed could be a pump. After a few minutes of investigation, he made his way back upstairs.

“Well?” Tony called.

“It seems to run on some sort of electricity,” Steve replied, deadpan.

Tony chuckled. “Well, you’re not wrong.”

“Fixing things isn’t really my strong point,” Steve admitted. “Not unless it’s something that can be fixed by me getting my ass kicked by someone bigger and stronger than me.”

“I do not want to meet that person,” Tony frowned, looking Steve up and down.

“Oh, I used to be smaller,” Steve explained. “I guess I could try and find the instructions on the internet? Maybe… Maybe I can figure it out. It’s worth a shot, I guess.”

He didn’t feel too confident, and the lingering exhaustion threatened to wash over him again, but Steve pushed it away. No, he wasn’t ready to give up again. Not without a fight. 

“I’m gonna see what else I can find down there,” he decided, grabbing his torch and his mask from his backpack before heading back downstairs. 

Standing on the threshold of the pump room, Steve gathered his courage even though he felt ridiculously out of his depth. “Alright, you bastard,” he muttered to the machinery. “How do you work?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I have never cleaned a pool filter or pump in my life. So if that part is totally wrong, it's creative license.

Steve stared at the pages he’d printed out, the instruction manuals for both the pump and filter, and tried to pretend he was reading them carefully and not internally panicking. He risked glancing up and found Tony watching him with one eyebrow raised. Steve instantly dropped his gaze back to the instructions and wished he’d paid more attention in physics or shop class or whatever would’ve helped him understand what the hell the instructions were talking about. 

“I think I’ve got it,” he lied, injecting his voice with faux confidence. “How hard can it be?”

“Yes, it’s only water and electricity,” Tony deadpanned. “What could possibly go wrong?”

“I can do this,” Steve insisted, ignoring the voice in his head - the one that sounded suspiciously like Bucky - which insisted that he absolutely could _not_ do this. What other option was there? He couldn’t exactly call in a workman. For a start, he didn’t own the building, and then there was the minor detail of the mer in the pool. “It’s just a case of trial and error,” he added, hoping to bolster Tony’s confidence. 

Judging by the way Tony’s face fell into a scowl, he’d failed. Tony pushed himself out of the water, reaching over and snatching the instructions from Steve’s hands. “Give me that.”

“Hey!”

“Steve, have you ever actually successfully fixed anything in your life?” Tony asked, settling on the edge of the pool and studying the instructions. 

Steve opened his mouth to protest when he was hit by the memory of the fire department being called to their apartment because of the toaster he’d tried to fix, and decided staying silent was the wisest course of action. 

“Like you can do any better,” he grumbled, shuffling over the tiles until he was sitting by Tony’s side.

“Actually, I can,” Tony replied absently.

“You’re not telling me you understand this gibberish, are you?”

“Not only do I understand it, I speak it,” Tony replied. “I can tell you what to do to fix the pump and the filter.”

“Really?” Steve blinked.

“Yeah. So, uh, filter. It’s probably gonna need to be backwashed and it’ll need new sand. Ideally, you backwash it after the pool’s been cleaned, but-”

“That might not work for us,” Steve finished.

“Exactly.”

“Okay, how do I tell if it needs backwashing?”

“There should be a pressure gauge on the filter,” Tony explained. “You do know what a pressure gauge looks like, right? Don’t look at me like that, Rogers. You have no idea what any of this means so I gotta break it down to baby terms. Small enough for your tiny little human brain to understand.”

“We have the same size brain,” Steve retorted.

“Do we? Do we though?”

“Just because you have a big head, doesn’t mean you have the brain to match.”

Tony’s lips twitched. “Stop distracting me,” he scolded, ignoring Steve’s indignant huff. “Anyway, as I was saying: there should be a pressure gauge. If it’s 8-10psi above normal operating pressure, it needs to be backwashed. But considering it should be backwashed on a weekly basis and it’s been ten years, I’m gonna say it’s a pretty safe bet it needs to be done.”

“What’s the normal operating pressure?” Steve asked.

“Uh, here,” Tony said, flipping the instructions over and tapping his finger against the page. 

“Okay. I’ll take a look,” Steve said, climbing to his feet. His scar twinged with the movement; the skin was healing, but it still pulled sometimes when he moved. And the rest of the time it itched constantly. It was driving him mad. 

Jogging down the stairs, Steve let himself into the pump room and searched until he found the pressure gauge in question. He baulked when he saw how high the pressure was.

“Oh yeah, that’s not good,” he muttered. 

“Any luck?” Tony called as Steve emerged.

“Yeah, pressure’s way too high,” he confirmed. “I’ll go to the pool place tonight or tomorrow and pick up some new sand.”“And a backwash hose.”

“And a backwash hose,” he nodded. “And actually look up what backwashing is. What about the pump?”

“We need to figure out why it’s not working. Number one: is there power?”

Shit. The building probably wasn’t connected to the power, Steve realised, unless someone was paying the bills. Which seemed unlikely.

“If there’s no power, we’re kinda fucked aren’t we?”

“What if we got a generator?” Tony suggested.

Steve raised his eyebrows. “Tony, do you know how much a generator costs?” When Tony shrugged, Steve continued, “A lot. I work at Target. I’m not exactly making a lot of money. Apart from which, I’m climbing over a wall to get in here. How am I supposed to get a generator over a wall?”

“Wait. I think Howard had a generator somewhere,” Tony realised. “He was kind of a paranoid asshole. And terrified of earthquakes.”

“So you’re saying there’s a generator somewhere in this house?” Steve frowned. He didn’t remember seeing anything vaguely generator-like when he explored the house.

“Somewhere in the grounds,” Tony corrected.

“Great,” Steve deadpanned. “Guess what I’m playing today? Hunt the generator.”

“Have fun!” Tony chirped. 

“I hate you,” Steve called.

Tony’s laughter followed him out of the house. The thought of searching the grounds - and there was a lot of ground to cover - looking for a generator was stupidly intimidating. Rationally, Steve knew it wouldn’t take that much effort, but his brain continued to whisper to him to just give up, just forget about it, because doing nothing would be _so much easier_. Except for the fact that doing nothing left him flooded with guilt. 

He tried the garage by the house first but found it empty. Leaving the garage, he followed the gravel path down into the grounds until he found the outbuildings he’d seen when he arrived that first afternoon, but never made it out to explore them on account of the stabbing.

His leg throbbed.

There was a dusty old Nissan, covered in leaves and mulch, which clearly hadn’t moved in a long time. Steve wondered absently if it still worked. Probably not; after ten years, the battery had to be dead. 

He found a way inside the first outbuilding and discovered a workshop. Bucky would probably know what the tools were for - he’d always been more interested in mechanics than Steve - but Steve ignored them in favour of locating the elusive generator. 

He paused, however, when a photograph stuck above the workbench caught his eye. Frowning, Steve moved forward and plucked the photo from the wall to study it. He recognised Howard Stark instantly and he assumed it was Arno in his arms. But then he really looked at the face of the child in his arms, and Steve’s heart stuttered. 

It wasn’t Arno.

It was Tony.

No doubt soon after he’d been captured, judging by his tiny features. His tail was hidden from the camera, making him look to all the world like an ordinary little boy, especially thanks to the shirt someone had clearly forced on him. But what drew Steve’s attention most of all was the look of utter confusion on Tony’s face. It wasn’t fear, not yet, just bewilderment. He looked so small and lost that Steve longed to go back in time, scoop him in his arms and get him away from the Starks before they could break his spirit. 

How could they not have seen Tony’s obvious discomfort? Or, Steve realised, leaving him queasy and furious, did they just not care? Did they see the little mer’s confusion and fear and ignore it? Did they enjoy it?

Before he realised what he was doing, Steve had ripped the picture to shreds, crushing the pieces in his fists, his nails digging painfully into his palms, but what did that compare to everything Tony’d gone through?

Dropping the tattered pieces of the photo onto the table, Steve forced himself to turn away and continue his search for the generator. Getting angry at dead people would do nothing to help Tony now, but finding the generator would. 

He finally found the generator in the second, smaller outbuilding, which seemed to have been used for storage only, with an honest-to-God fuel tank beside it which was, Steve confirmed, full of fuel. There was even a second, portable generator hidden under a tarp.

“You were a paranoid bastard, weren’t you?” Steve muttered. 

As far as he could tell, the generator was connected to the main house, but he decided to snap a couple of pictures on his phone and show them to Tony to double check, just to be safe. 

“Found it,” Steve called as he re-entered the house. Dropping down by the edge of the pool, he pulled his phone out of the pocket of his board shorts and handed it over to Tony. “I thought it looked like it’s all connected up. What do you think?”

“Um…” Tony peered at the screen.

“Uh, like this,” Steve added, demonstrating how to zoom in.

“Oh, yeah. That’s all fired up. But fuel might be an issue.”

Steve shook his head. “Full fuel tank right next to it.”

“Oh. Handy.”

“Do I need to do anything at this end?” Steve asked. 

“Find the fusebox, there’s probably a switch to turn from mains power to the generator.”

“Fusebox,” Steve nodded. “Okay. Be right back.”

Returning to the outbuilding, he fired up the generator. Then he found the fusebox hidden in the bathroom by the main door and turned on the switch in question. Before returning to the pool, Steve trekked through the house, checking there were no lights left on and suddenly visible thanks to the generator, potentially alerting anyone that something was going on in the house. The last thing he wanted was any unwelcome visitors. 

“Done,” he announced, collapsing onto the floor. The cold leached through his t-shirt, a welcome relief after covering most of the estate in the growing summer heat. His stomach grumbled loudly; Steve sat up with a groan, reaching for his backpack and pulling out the leftover pizza he’d stuffed into a box before leaving that morning.

“What pizza did you get?” Tony asked, swimming closer.

“Cheese,” Steve mumbled, his mouth full.

“Your manners are atrocious,” Tony sniffed. 

“Did you seriously just use the word atrocious?” 

“Yes, I did. Because despite it being my second language, I apparently know English better than you do.”

Forgoing any words at all, Steve flipped him off. Tony snorted, before darting forward and stealing a piece of pizza.

“Hey!”

“You snooze, you lose,” Tony grinned.

“I thought human food wasn’t good for you,” Steve retorted.

“This isn’t good for humans either, but that doesn’t stop you from eating it.”

Steve opened his mouth to object, before remembering that this was his third meal in under twenty four hours which consisted only of pizza, and abruptly shut it again. Tony… maybe had a point. 

Scooting forward, he stuck his toe in the pool and flicked water towards Tony. It was a half-hearted effort at best, but Tony laughed anyway. He was still a dick, Steve decided, but Tony had a nice laugh. 

When the pizza was gone, Steve scrubbed his hands over his face, yawning widely. He blinked muzzily, feeling exhaustion creeping in now that he’d stopped and actually eaten something almost resembling a meal. His muscles protested loudly when he stood up, but Steve knew if he didn’t move now he never would. 

Picking up the aluminium pole, he fought to get the net off, swearing under his breath when it caught the skin of his finger as he pushed down the metal studs to release the head. He ignored the very obvious sound of giggles coming from the pool behind him, focusing on finally pulling the net free and replacing it with the brush head instead. 

Turning back to the pool, Steve realised exactly how big it was. He wilted a little at the thought of scrubbing it all by hand to remove the build up of muck from the walls.

“Nothing else for it,” he mumbled. 

Tony watched him as he walked forward. 

“You gonna help?” Steve called.

“Nah,” Tony grinned, hopping out of the water and lounging on his elbows. “I think I’ll just sit back and look pretty while you do all the work.” 

“But then you’d have to be pretty in the first place,” Steve pointed out. 

Tony flicked his tail, spraying Steve from head to toe in water. Steve blew the water out. 

“Thanks,” he retorted. “Very refreshing.”

“I’m helpful like that,” Tony shrugged, a shit-eating grin on his face. 

“Somewhere, there is an asshole with a metal arm laughing about karma right now,” Steve sighed, shaking his head. 

“Huh?” Tony tilted his head in confusion, and that really shouldn’t look as cute as it did, Steve thought. 

“Nothing,” Steve shook his head.

* * *

“Well, see you tomorrow, I guess,” Steve called, swinging his backpack onto his shoulder. 

“See you,” Tony replied, but Steve frowned, because Tony’s reply was lacklustre and missing his usual snark.

“You okay?”

“I’m great,” Tony replied with a faint smile. He coughed into his elbow and it wracked his whole body, his wheezing breath cutting through the air. Steve frowned, stepping forward before stopping suddenly when he realised there was nothing he could do to help. He’d never done well with being powerless, and seeing Tony obviously ill and in pain was starting to tug on some memories he’d locked in a box and buried deep underground. 

“You don’t sound great.”

“I’m fine,” Tony insisted with some of his usual heat behind the words. “Seriously, fuck off, Rogers. Go home. Surely you have some kind of a life outside of here.”

“Not really,” Steve admitted.

“Wow. You might actually be even more pathetic than me,” Tony mused. He picked a raw prawn from the container, tossing it in the air and catching it with his mouth.

“Stop showing off,” Steve retorted.

“If you’d prefer I can do knife tricks,” Tony called after him. 

Steve flipped him off as he let himself out of the house, but he was smiling as he made his way down the garden.

Tony lingered in his thoughts as he drove home, thinking about him and his obvious illness probably more than was safe while driving. Making his way up to the apartment, Steve tried to push him away, but the way Tony’s shoulders shook under the cough kept pushing its way into his mind’s eye. He pulled out his keys, but the apartment door swung open before he could get the key into the slot.

“Oh. Hey,” Rhodey blinked.

“Hey,” Steve echoed. 

“I was just on my way out,” Rhodey explained, “But there was kind of a pasta overflow when I made dinner, so you’re welcome to the leftovers if you want them.”

“Thanks,” Steve nodded. 

“See you later.”

“Bye,” he waved, before heading inside. 

With a bowl of steaming pasta reheated in the microwave, Steve curled up in the corner of the couch, balancing his laptop on the armrest, and searched for _mermaids_ on Google.

374,000,000 results.

Steve tapped his fork against the edge of the bowl, chewing slowly. Then, sticking his fork in his mouth and holding it between his teeth, he switched to Google Scholar and tried again. 

29,800 results.

“Well, it’s an improvement,” he muttered and began scrolling. 

After several false starts and eight pages of results, Steve stumbled upon an article entitled _Mermaids: the theory of evolution, biology, and anatomy_. Clicking on the link, Steve found it was an undergraduate thesis from 2008 by a then-student of Harvard.

“Bruce Banner,” Steve read. 

He scrolled through the thesis, most of which he didn’t understand - biology was another subject he hadn’t exactly excelled at - but he was able to work out the gist of it. And the gist was a hypothetical description of how real life mermaids would look and act, theorising on diet and communication and even mating habits, which prompted Steve’s mind to start wandering until he firmly clamped down on _that_ train of thought. Face red, he continued reading, and from what little he knew of Tony and mers, it seemed like this Bruce Banner wasn’t far off the mark. There were some things which were obviously wrong - the placement of the gills, for one - but he had the diet almost spot on.

“Bruce Banner,” Steve said again, dropping his empty bowl onto the floor then opening a new tab. He typed the name into Google.

Steve’s eyebrows shot up when he saw the first result.

_Malibu Marine Institute. Founded in 1987 by Dr Maria Stark._

“That’s convenient,” he murmured, clicking on the link. 

It was a brief biography of the staff at the Marine Institute, including one Dr. Robert Bruce Banner, PhD, who’d worked there for the past two years. A quick detour to Google Maps told him that the Malibu Marine Institute was only a thirty minute drive away. Steve tapped his fingers against his laptop. 

It was a risk to even ask hypothetical questions, never mind potentially telling another person about Tony. And there was a very good chance Dr. Banner would need to see Tony in person, which… probably wouldn’t go down well. Steve rubbed the bandage on his leg absently.

But Tony was sick. And the rattling cough, the grey pallor of his skin, none of it seemed healthy. And while Steve knew part of it could be his own issues, another part reminded him that Tony wouldn’t ask for help even if he needed it.

“He’s gonna kill me,” he told the empty apartment. “Well, if I’m gonna die tomorrow, I might as well eat ice cream tonight.”

* * *

According to the Institute’s website, Dr. Bruce Banner gave a talk on the local marine life at 10.30am every day, so Steve made sure to arrive just as the talk was ending, slipping into the back of the crowd and studying the man at the front of the room. He was older than Steve, but then Steve had already known that based on his graduation dates, and he looked kind. Considering the trust Steve was about to put in him, that was important. 

Steve frowned, tilting his head as he studied Dr. Banner. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but Steve brushed it off. Where on earth would he have met a marine biologist? 

He watched Banner smile at the kids who ran up to him when the talk was over until they were shuffled out by their parents, leaving Steve alone with him.

“Dr. Banner?” 

“What? Yes. Hi,” Banner replied, pushing his glasses further up his nose as he looked up. “Wait, Steve?”

Steve blinked. “Do I know you?”

“Uh…” Banner replied, ducking his head and rubbing the back of his neck. His face flushed and that was kind of adora- _Ohhhh._

Steve’s eyes widened. Oh shit. He did know Banner. Well, perhaps _know_ was a bit too strong. He didn’t really _know_ Banner, unless knowing what he looked like when he came counted. Banner was one of the many faces he’d lost in a haze of grief and alcohol when he moved to LA. 

“Hi,” Steve said. “Uh…”

“Bruce.”

“Yeah. Bruce,” Steve nodded. 

“What are you, uh, what are you doing here?”

“I was actually looking for you. Although I didn’t know you were you,” Steve added quickly. “I mean, I didn’t know we’d met. No. I didn’t know you were a marine biologist. Or maybe I did. I can’t remember. Um. Should I stop digging?”

“Probably for the best,” Bruce nodded. 

“Right. I wanted to ask you something,” Steve declared. 

Bruce eyed him, moving towards the door and indicating for Steve to follow him. “Sounds mysterious. What can I help you with?” 

“I want to discuss your thesis.”

“Which one? The zooplankton community in the Gulf of Mexico? Or characterising gross lesions in corals on the fringing reefs in Taiwan and Hainan Islands?” Bruce asked, holding the outer door open for Steve before taking the lead, weaving between the tourists milling about between the buildings and exhibits. 

“Neither,” Steve replied.

Bruce frowned. “But that’s all… Oh.” He stopped, turning to face Steve with a resigned expression. “You’re one of the mermaid guys.”

“Uh, no, not exactly,” Steve replied. He wondered vaguely what Bruce meant by the mermaid guys, then decided from his expression that he really, one hundred percent did _not_ want to know. “And, uh, I’m led to believe they prefer the term mer.” 

“Wow. Wish I’d known this about you before I slept with you,” Bruce muttered, shaking his head. “Look, Steve. That thesis? Purely speculative. I was a dumb kid trying to be edgy and cool. Mermaids - or mers or whatever - do not exist.”

Steve stepped forward. “What if I told you they do?”

“Then I’d tell you to cut down on how much weed you’re smoking,” Bruce replied, turning and walking away. 

“What if I introduced you to one?” Steve blurted out. 

Bruce stopped. He turned slowly, raising his eyebrows. “You’re telling me,” he said slowly, “That not only can you prove the existence of mermaids, you can introduce me to one?” 

“Yes,” Steve nodded. “A mer.”

Bruce laughed. “Wow. Thank you, Steve. This was, uh, fun. But I have to go-”

“What do you have to lose?” Steve called. “You come with me and if I’m lying, if I’m wrong, so what? You wasted an hour. But if I’m telling the truth…”

“Or,” Bruce said, “You murder me and bury me in a shallow grave somewhere.”

“If I was going to kill you, don’t you think I would’ve done it after you passed out when we were in bed together? And trust me, I’m not the one you have to worry about stabbing you.” 

Bruce looked at him in confusion, but he seemed no more convinced. Which meant it was time for Steve’s last ditch attempt. If this didn’t work then… Well, maybe he could offer Bruce a blow job. And if _that_ didn’t work, then Steve would give up and go see Tony and do his best to save him on his own.

Maybe saving Tony would get rid of the crushing guilt he felt for-

“He’s sick,” Steve blurted out. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him. I mean, I do, kind of. But he needs help. He won’t admit it, but he does. And I don’t want him to die. Even if he is a complete dick, he’s… He’s my friend, I guess.” 

Bruce studied him carefully. Just as Steve was about to give up and thank him for his time - or offer the blow job - Bruce said, “Okay.”

“What?”

“I said okay.”

“Thank you!” Steve grinned.

“If you murder me, I’m haunting your ass for the rest of eternity,” Bruce warned. “And remember, I’ve seen your ass.”

“Yes, you have. And deal.”

* * *

“The Mermaid House?” Bruce exclaimed, gaping at Steve from the passenger seat. “You expect me to believe there is a mermaid _in_ the Mermaid House?”

“Please do not call him a mermaid,” Steve warned. “He does not like it. At all.”

“The Mermaid House,” Bruce muttered, shaking his head. 

“Look, I know how it sounds-”

“Do you? Because I’m pretty sure you need help, and not the kind a marine biologist can provide.”

Steve’s grip on the wheel tightened. “Yeah, probably. But I’m not lying.” 

His words did nothing to lessen Bruce’s skeptical expression, or the awkward atmosphere in the car. It was just typical that the only marine biologist in the country to write a thesis on mermaids would also turn out to be someone he’d had a one night stand with. It would possibly be less awkward if Steve had actually, you know, remembered Bruce before they were face to face. In his defence, his list of one night stands was, well, a long list. 

Even if it had been a while.

Bruce’s incredulity only increased when Steve explained they had to climb the wall to get into the property.

“You gotta be kidding me.”

“Look, this isn’t exactly one hundred percent legal,” Steve snapped. “I know you think you’re the one taking the risk here, but you’re not. I am risking so much to ask for your help, and it’s only because I don’t see any other option. I can clean the shit out of that water, I can fix the pump, I can make sure he gets food. But I can’t figure out what’s wrong with him. Except for the fact that he was abandoned and left to die here. I _need_ your help. But if you want to leave, then leave. If you want to help me save a life, then get over here and I’ll give you a boost.” 

“Fine,” Bruce sighed, stepping forward and putting his foot in Steve’s hands. 

They made their way up to the house in an awkward silence. What did you say to someone you slept with once then turned up a year later to ask for his help?

There was no Tony perched by the pool when they reached the top of the steps today. Steve took the lead, sliding open the patio door and letting Bruce in.

“Tony?” he called. “Tony, it’s me.”

Bruce looked at him sharply. “Tony? As in Tony Stark?”

“It’s a long story,” Steve replied. “Hey, Tony? Come here. Don’t go too near the water,” he warned, grabbing Bruce’s arm and pulling him back. 

Bruce eyed him suspiciously. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve noticed a flicker of movement beneath the water, then Tony burst through the surface, teeth bared and fury in his eyes. And wielding his knife. 

“You better have a good fucking explanation for this, Rogers,” Tony growled. “Actually, screw that. I don’t care what your explanation is: I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“Tony, calm down!”

“Calm down? Don’t fucking tell me to calm down, Rogers. I _trust-_ Who the fuck is this anyway?” Tony snapped, turning his gaze on Bruce, who was staring in disbelief at Tony, his eyes flickering from the gils to the patches of scales on his torso to his tail.

“His name’s Bruce Banner,” Steve explained. “He’s a marine biologist, he’s here to help you.” 

“I don’t need help.”

“You’re sick!” Steve shouted. “You’re sick and I work at Target. I can’t help you. I don’t know how, but he can.” 

“Yeah, and then he sticks me in a fucking museum,” Tony spat. 

His voice trembled and his eyes shone, a wet sheen covering them, and a burst of protectiveness burst in Steve’s chest. He stepped forward, ignoring the threat of the knife and held Tony’s gaze steady. “Over my dead body,” he promised slowly.

Their eyes locked. Suddenly Steve understood what it was like for Bucky when Steve was a kid, running headfirst into a fight he couldn’t win and why Bucky always pulled the other kids off of him and took the punch himself. Tony was so vulnerable.

Steve nodded, silently reiterating his promise.

“I should’ve known you were trouble the first time we met.” 

Their heads snapped towards Bruce. For a moment, Steve had forgotten he was there. Bruce was staring wide-eyed at Tony and his colour was off.

“You’re the one who let me blow you in that bathroom,” Steve retorted.

“Wait, what?” Tony snapped. 

“Thought you didn’t remember?”

“It’s coming back to me,” Steve grinned. “Do you need to sit down?”

“I’m dreaming,” Bruce shook his head. “Or you’ve murdered me and are burying my body in the Hollywood Hills because that’s, that’s a mer… There’s a tail.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s- He- You- What is going on?” Bruce exclaimed. 

Steve glanced at Tony. “It’s a long story.” 

“You- I- Oh wow,” Bruce sighed. “Wow. So you’re Tony Stark? _The_ Tony Stark?”

“In the scales,” Tony replied frostily. 

“Sorry I called you crazy,” Bruce said to Steve.

Steve shrugged. “It’s okay. Sorry I forgot we had sex.” Besides, sometimes he wasn’t exactly sure that he wasn’t crazy.

“Okay. Okay. Right. Okay. I’m putting a pin in the freaking out,” Bruce announced, “Because I don’t think that’s going to stop any time soon. How can I help?”

Steve turned to Tony. “You promise not to stab him?”

Tony glared, “I reserve the right to stab him if he tries anything, but other than that, sure, I promise not to stab him.” 

“Alright, then I’ll give you two some privacy,” Steve replied, turning towards the door. 

“Wait, where are you going?” Tony called. 

“Just back to my car,” Steve explained. “I got some new sand for the filter. I’ll be back in ten minutes.” 

“Okay,” Tony nodded, but he didn’t look reassured so Steve tried to hurry as much as he could, jogging down the garden and taking the trail down to his car as quickly as he could without turning an ankle on a rock. 

When he returned, Tony and Bruce were talking quietly, Bruce kneeling at the edge of the pool and pushing his glasses further up his nose. Steve remembered thinking that was endearing, the first time they met. He shot Tony a smile and, to his surprise, he received a tentative one in return. Hoisting the bag of sand further onto his shoulder, he made his way down to the pump room. 

Following the instructions on his phone - and the notes he’d made from Tony’s explanation - Steve managed to replace the sand in the filter. Then he fought with the backwashing hose, grinning in triumph when he managed to get it attached. It took him longer than he wanted to admit to figure it out, but eventually he managed to get it to work and the filter was backwashed.

Emerging from the basement, Steve spotted Tony sitting perched on the edge of the pool with Bruce sitting beside him. He slowed down, trying to respect Tony’s privacy, but Tony spotted him instantly.

“What have you been up to?” he called. 

“Backwashed the filter.”

“And you managed it all on your own? Colour me impressed, Rogers. Pretty soon you’ll be able to tie your own shoelaces without supervision and everything.”

Steve flipped him off. “So what’s the verdict?” he asked Bruce. 

“Good news, Tony should be fine,” Bruce replied. “I mean, a lot of this is guesswork and my brain is kinda exploding but, uh, yeah.” 

“I thought you said it was good news,” Steve teased.

Tony rolled his eyes and huffed.

“It looks like a mild bacterial infection,” Bruce continued. “And considering the state of this water, you got off easily.”

“Yeah, I’m working on it,” Steve grimaced. 

“I’m going to get you some antibiotics,” Bruce added. “Steve, if you come by the Institute tomorrow, I can give them to you. Start with a week’s course and see how you are after that. If you need more, just give me a call.” 

“Thanks Bruce.”

“Yeah, you know you’re okay,” Tony nodded. “For a human.”

“That’s high praise from him,” Steve smiled. 

“Well, look what I have to compare you with.” Tony gestured to Steve. “It’s not exactly a high bar.”“Come on, Bruce, I’ll give you a ride back,” Steve said, ignoring Tony’s smirk and barely resisting the urge to flip him off again. 

“Actually, I think I’m gonna walk and take the bus,” Bruce replied. “I need some time to think and… convince myself I’m not dreaming.” 

“Fair enough,” Steve nodded. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he told Tony, leading Bruce towards the door.

“I shall count the seconds,” Tony deadpanned, and this time Steve did flip him off. “Bye Bruce.”

“Bye Tony. It was… interesting to meet you.”

“Thank you,” Steve said as they made their way down the garden. 

“I gotta say, this is probably the weirdest encounter with an ex I’ve ever had,” Bruce grinned and oh, that was the expression that caught Steve’s interest a year ago. 

“I wish I could say the same,” he chuckled.

“Besides,” Bruce continued, “I’m pretty sure I should be thanking you. I mean, you did just prove the existence of mers. I could rewrite my thesis. Jeez, I’d love to see the expression on my old advisor’s face. Ross, what an asshole.” 

Steve stopped, fear gripping his heart as it pounded in his ears. 

“You’re not going to, though, right?”

“What? Oh, no. No, no. I won’t tell anyone. You can trust me,” Bruce promised. 

Trust him. Steve didn’t really trust anyone. Except maybe Bucky. 

“Steve?” 

“Sorry. Got lost in my own little world.”

“You can trust me,” Bruce repeated. “Believe me, I understand the importance of keeping this quiet. Instead of dolphins and whales at SeaWorld, we’d have mers being forced to perform tricks for paying audiences.”

“You’re not a fan?”

“I agree with the need for conservation, and I can see the benefit of certain zoos. But I don’t agree with animals being used for entertainment,” Bruce said as they reached the foot of the garden. He smiled up at Steve. “Well. Steve. Good to see you again.”

“With clothes on this time,” Steve grinned.

“Yeah,” Bruce chuckled. “Thank you for an eye-opening morning.”

“You’re welcome. Thanks for your help.”

“I’ll have those antibiotics for you tomorrow,” Bruce continued. “And… here’s my card. Feel free to give me a call.”

“Oh. Oh.” Steve blinked. “Uh. Right. Um, Bruce, you’re great, really, and I appreciate this and all but-”

“I have a girlfriend,” Bruce interrupted. “I actually meant you could call me if you needed to talk about the whole _mers exist_ thing. Because God knows I’m going to need someone to talk to about all this.”

“Right,” Steve cringed. “Sorry. That was- I’m an idiot.”

“Yeah, you are,” Bruce smiled. “I gotta say, I like this version of you a lot better. The dark brooding one was very hot, but this guy, I like this guy.”

“Um, thanks?” Steve fidgeted, not really sure how to take the compliment. 

“Well, I’ll see you around, Steve. Uh, can you…?” Bruce gestured to the wall.

“Oh. Yeah. Of course.” Steve linked his fingers together, giving Bruce a boost over the wall.

“See you tomorrow,” Bruce called, before disappearing over the other side.

“See you,” Steve echoed.

He turned the business card over in his hand before slipping it into his pocket. He made his way back up to the house with Bruce’s words ringing in his ears. 

_I like this version of you a lot better._

When he reached the terrace, Tony was waiting in the pool outside, resting his chin on his fist as he leaned against the tiles and stared up at Steve.

“What?” Steve asked.

“Nothing,” Tony smirked. Then he backflipped into the pool, his tail spraying Steve with water.

Steve huffed, wiping the water from his eyes. Making his way inside, he found Tony studying him from across the pool. 

“What?”

“Are you going to see him again?” Tony asked. There was something weird in his tone.

“Yes. Tomorrow. When I pick up your antibiotics,” Steve replied. “Why do you care?”

“You two seem… close.” 

“We spent one night together a year ago,” Steve retorted. “We’re not close. I didn’t even remember him until we were face to face.”

“You didn’t remember?” Tony echoed.

“No. Why are you looking at me like that?” Steve frowned. He was used to people slut-shaming him when they found out he slept around, but there was something about it coming from Tony that twisted him up inside.

“I’m not looking at you like anything.”

“Yeah? Cause it looks like you’re judging me. What do you want me to say? I wasn’t exactly in a good place back then,” he snapped.

“And you’re doing so great now,” Tony smiled humorlessly. 

Steve bristled. “Yeah, I’m a fucking mess, and I have terrible coping mechanisms. Back then I fucked my way through half of LA. And now I’m here, out of my depth and trying to save someone who hates my guts. I’m an idiot. I know.”

“I just wondered if you were going to see him again,” Tony muttered.

“Not like that,” Steve sighed. “He has a girlfriend. And I’m not interested.”

“Why?” Tony asked quickly. “I mean, he’s nice. And the two of you don’t look terrible. For humans.”

“Because I’m a disaster when it comes to relationships,” Steve explained. “So, I don’t have them. I can barely keep friendships alive, so I have… no chance with anything more. I’m a mess.”

Tony was studying him again, but his expression was softer now. 

“Lucky for me,” he said eventually. “I guess.”

“Yeah. Lucky for you.”

* * *

When Steve returned to his apartment that night, he pulled out Bruce’s card and turned it over in his hand, staring at the blue logo as it turned. He hadn’t been lying when he told Tony he wasn’t interested in Bruce like that. 

But he would be lying if he said he wasn’t considering calling him.

Maybe it would be good to have a friend again.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve inspected the scar on his leg with a grim fascination. The wound had closed enough to stop dressing it, but the pink line still stood out against Steve’s skin. He let his fingers dance over the scar until a shiver of revulsion ran down his spine. Steve shuddered. He had a thing about scars. 

He finished tidying up the bathroom after his shower and padded into the kitchen in search of something to eat. Grabbing a pot of pasta, he stuck it into the microwave and hopped up onto the counter to wait for it, pulling out his phone and messaging Bucky.

“Wow.”

Steve glanced up and found Rhodey staring at him. Or, more accurately, staring at the scar on his leg. 

Steve cursed silently. He should’ve worn sweat pants instead of board shorts.

“I thought you said you fell,” Rhodey said, raising his eyebrows.

“Uh, yeah,” Steve replied. “It was a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding with a knife?”

“Yeah. Seriously, it’s all good,” Steve insisted. The microwave pinged loudly, announcing that his pasta was ready and allowing Steve to grab the food and make a very obvious escape to his bedroom. 

He curled up on his bed and opened his laptop, watching clips on YouTube as he ate. Sitting up to toss the empty pot in the trash, Steve licked his fork clean and set it on the table to return to the kitchen later, then picked up his laptop, opening a new tab. 

He hesitated for a moment, his fingers sitting on the keys, the cursor blinking expectantly at him. Then he slowly typed _psychologists in Echo Park_ into the search bar, closed his eyes and hit enter. 

The first result was from Psychology Today, with a list of psychologists and therapists, each with a profile on their methods and training, with headshots beside their names. It looked far too intimidating, so Steve switched tabs, returning to YouTube until his heart stopped pounding.

Exhaling slowly, he returned to the list and began scrolling, trying very hard not to be intimidated by the fact it was five pages long. Discomfort rolled beneath his skin like waves on the beach, but Steve forced himself to keep looking.

He knew he needed help - hell, he’d known for a long time, but he’d always convinced himself that he was _fine_. But it was becoming clearer and clearer that he wasn’t fine. And now, it wasn’t all about Steve anymore. He had Tony to consider. And while Bruce knowing about Tony made Steve feel a little better, in case anything happened to him, but Tony had no way of contacting Bruce so it still wasn’t ideal.

Steve had no choice; he had to take care of himself if he was going to help Tony. 

He scrolled through the names, flicking back and forth between the pages. He clicked on a few names although he wasn’t sure what made him pick those ones over the others, but nothing really clicked. 

By the time he closed the webpage, Steve had a list of three names as the most likely candidates, their websites saved in his bookmarks for later. Dr. Helen Cho was at the top of the list, and Steve spent a long time staring at the _Contact Me_ page on her website, but he chickened out of sending a message.

He wasn’t there yet. 

He knew he needed help, but taking that step and reaching out? 

It was too much. For now. 

So he saved her details and closed the tab, feeling better in himself just knowing he’d taken that first, tentative step towards getting help. 

* * *

So of course, when he woke the next morning, it made perfect sense that Steve felt like complete and utter shit. Silencing his alarm, he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes before dropping his arms. He stared at the watermark on the ceiling, then rolled out of bed with a groan, no matter how tempting it was to lie down again and go back to sleep.

His room was stifling and Steve knew it was going to be one of those horribly humid and sticky days which he hated. Pulling on his board shorts and his thinnest t-shirt, Steve glared at his boots. They were _not_ made for the heat. But he had to wear them anyway because if he ended up in the ER again, Bucky would never let him hear the end of it. Neither would Tony.

With a sigh, he pulled on his boots and grabbed his backpack. He picked up some fish and fruit for Tony, making a mental note to go back to the fish market on Saturday, then grabbed a smoothie and lunch for himself, making sure to pack an extra bottle of water since the temperature was already climbing.

Steve’s car was so old, it didn’t have air conditioning. He liked to joke that the air con was opening both windows and letting the wind whip through the car while he was driving. But today, even that brought little relief. He wasn’t looking forward to scrubbing the pool in this heat, but at least he would see Tony. When had seeing Tony become the bright spot in his day, Steve wondered, locking the car and trekking up the trail towards the Stark Mansion. At some point their discourse had turned from pointed barbs into a comfortable familiarity. And despite the fact Steve felt like shit, staying at home had never really been an option today, because he wanted to see Tony.

Tony was floating in the middle of the pool when Steve arrived. His eyes flickered over Tony from head to tail. The sight of him lounging in the water, looking relaxed and gaining weight thanks to his improved diet and Bruce’s prescription of antibiotics, brought a smile to Steve’s face.

“Morning,” Steve called.

“Hey Steve,” Tony replied, lifting his head to smile lazily.

“Alright, what’s wrong?” Steve smirked. “Because it _almost_ seems like you’re in a good mood. Is the world ending?”

“You try to be nice to some people,” Tony sighed, swimming over to the edge of the pool. 

“You? Nice?”

Tony sniffed, “I can be nice. And watch it, if you want my help.”

“ _I’m_ helping _you_ ,” Steve reminded him. “So helping me is really helping yourself. So by not helping me, you’d only be hurting yourself.”

“Yeah, but it’s almost worth it just to piss you off.”

“Just for that, I’m not getting you any more of that salmon you liked,” Steve warned.

“You would deny a mer salmon? Your cruelty knows no bounds, Steve.”

Steve rolled his eyes, pulling off his backpack and removing the box of fish, which did in fact include Tony’s favourite salmon, and passing it over.

“So. What’s your plan for the day?” Tony asked, slicing off a strip of salmon and rolling it up before popping it into his mouth. 

“I’m going to tackle the pump,” Steve decided. “We’ve pretty much finished getting all the crap out of the water that we can - although I am going to look at that water vacuum thing again - and we’ve removed all the gunk from the walls, so I think it’s time to see if we can get this thing fired up.”

“Are you sure you’re up to it?”

“I guess it all depends on if your explanations are up to it,” Steve said, arching his eyebrows. 

“My explanations are flawless,” Tony sniffed. “I just worry about your tiny human brain. We’re not exactly operating on the same level.”

“That’s because I’m six two, and you’re in a hole in the ground,” Steve teased. 

But a shadow flickered over Tony’s eyes and instead of the usual barbed comeback or joke about the thinner air affecting Steve’s brains, he just nodded.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. Do you want me to go over it again?” Tony offered, an obviously fake smile plastered on his face.

“Sure,” Steve nodded. 

Steve threw himself into the work, hoping to drive away the lingering negative feelings by keeping busy enough to avoid giving his brain a chance to think. It was always dangerous letting his brain think. Luckily, taking the pump apart required all of his brain power, even with the manual and Tony’s guidance ringing in his ears. 

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Steve opened the pump up to check off the first item on Tony’s list: clearing dirt and debris from the vents, skimmer and pump baskets. Which turned out to be a really disgusting job. Steve was grateful for his mask because he really didn’t want to think too much about what he was cleaning out of the pump or how long it had been in there. When he was done, he retrieved his antibac hand gel and scrubbed his hands for over five minutes, grimacing whenever he thought too long on the gunk he’d pulled out of there. 

“How’s it going?” Tony called.

“I haven’t thrown up in my mask yet, so that’s a win,” Steve replied.

Onto the next item on the list: component maintenance. 

Steve laid out the impeller housing ‘o’ rings and shaft seals, double checking their part numbers against the instructions to ensure he’d picked up the right ones. Considering he didn’t know what a shaft seal was until recently, Steve felt it was a good idea to double check, mostly so Tony couldn’t mock him if he put the wrong part into the pump. 

He removed the clearly deteriorated old rings and seals, replacing them with the new ones and when he was done, Steve felt a rush of pride. He almost pulled out his phone to take a picture before realising there was no one he could possibly show without an explanation. Except Tony, who wouldn’t be nearly as impressed as Steve would like.

“Alright, dumbass,” he muttered to himself. “What’s next?”

Next was trying to start the pump. Which, considering the generator was powered up and working - Steve had double checked - it should’ve started. But it didn’t.

“Shit,” Steve grumbled.

Climbing to his feet, he left the pump room and climbed the stairs back to ground level. “It won’t start,” he called across the room.

“What do you mean it won’t start? Did you turn it on?” Tony replied.

“Yes, I turned it on,” Steve snapped. “I’m not that dumb.”

“Just checking.” Tony swam towards him. “When you say it’s not turning on, what do you mean?”

“What do you think I mean? I press the on button and nothing happens.”

“Nothing?” Tony pressed. “Does it make any noise at all? Start then stop?”

“It doesn’t start but I guess it, kinda, hums?”

“Capacitor,” Tony nodded. “I told you to pick one up; did you?”

“Yeah. So I replace the capacitor?”

“Yes.”

“Right. And how do I do that?”

Tony rolled his eyes, but he explained the process carefully. When Steve asked him to repeat something, he did so with nary a mutter. The reason why Steve had to ask Tony to repeat himself had less to do with his lack of understanding - Tony was a good teacher and Steve had always managed to pick things up quickly if he was paying attention - and more to do with the fact he kept getting distracted watching Tony’s face as he explained what to do. 

Tony was striking, and not just because of his mismatched eyes or the gills on his neck. Even though Steve had looked at him multiple times before, it was only now that it really started to sink in how stunning he was.

“Got it?” Tony asked.

“Think so,” Steve nodded.

Tony’s eyes softened. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Steve smiled.

Sure enough, once he’d replaced the capacitor and connected everything up, the pump spluttered into life. Steve punched the air and danced around the pump room, silently glad there was no one to see him and judge. 

“I did it,” he announced, emerging from the basement.

“Yes, you did,” Tony agreed. It might’ve been all in his head, but Steve thought Tony almost sounded proud. 

“Thank God,” Steve sighed, collapsing by the side of the pool and ripping off his mask. He downed the rest of his smoothie in one then tipped his head back, breathing heavily. “It’s really fucking hot down there,” he exclaimed.

“So I can smell.”

“Hey. I’m helping you. So shut up,” Steve grumbled, but he couldn’t help but smile. 

“Yeah, well, you wanna help me, have something to eat,” Tony said, picking up his knife to slice off some more salmon strips. “Your stomach grumbling is doing my head in.”

“Hmm, yeah,” Steve nodded, stretching across the floor for his backpack. It was just out of reach but he was too lazy to move, wriggling his fingers and huffing, then letting out a cry of triumph when his ring finger caught the strap. Yanking the bag with him, he sat up again and found Tony staring at him, a strange expression on his face. “What?”

“Nothing,” Tony replied hoarsely.

Steve frowned but shrugged it off, pulling out the plastic tub with his lunch.

“What do you have today?” Tony asked.

Steve looked him dead in the eye and replied, “Sushi.”

Tony blinked and then an expression of delight spread across his face. He picked up a raw prawn and tossed it into the air to catch with his mouth. “Enjoy,” he grinned.

It wasn’t until after he’d finished eating and picked up the skimmer to remove any new debris blown into the pool that Steve realised that eating and joking with Tony had lifted him out of his funk. Not completely, but he felt better than he did before. Steve paused, glancing curiously over his shoulder at the mer.

Bucky was the only person who’d ever been able to make him feel better simply by being there, and even then it could be hit or miss. But, Steve realised as he got to work, being around Tony always made him feel better since That Day. Their arguing and constant attempts to wind each other up kept him going in a way nothing else had in over a year.

Steve bit his lip, stealing another glance at Tony. Somehow, without him realising, his dislike of the mer had shifted into something almost like friendship. The kind of friendship Bucky had with his co-worker, Clint, where they teased the shit out of each constantly but spent every available moment together even when they didn’t have to. 

Shaking his head, Steve went back to work. And if he kept sneaking glances at Tony every so often, well, there was no one around to judge him for it.

* * *

He should be heading back to the apartment, Steve knew. It was getting dark and he needed to eat a proper meal. But instead of gathering his things together and leaving, he unlaced his boots and padded over the blessedly cool tile out onto the terrace. He sat on the edge of the pool, letting his legs dangle in the water.

He sighed, lying down and letting the cold seep through his shirt from the ground. Even though the sun had slipped below the horizon, the humidity lingered, leaving Steve sticky and longing for a New York winter. 

“You’re here late,” Tony’s voice called, breaking Steve out of his reverie. 

Steve smiled up at the night sky above him. “You throwing me out, Tony?”

“Maybe,” Tony sniffed haughtily. 

Steve heard the water lap the edge of the pool, no doubt thanks to Tony’s ever-shifting tail. The evening breeze tickled his stomach where his shirt had ridden up when he lay down.

“Why are you still here?” Tony asked bluntly.

Steve shrugged. “Nowhere else to go.” 

Tony scoffed. “Won’t you be missed?” 

“Nobody to miss me. Well, I have a roommate. He’d probably notice. And he has a girlfriend, Sharon. She’s nice. She’d probably notice if I wasn’t there.”

There was a pause. The water sloshed over Steve’s knees; glancing down, Steve saw Tony pull himself out of the water, perching on the edge of the pool and watching Steve with a small frown.

“What about your family?” he pressed.

“I don’t have any family. My dad left when I was a kid. He’s no loss. Then my mom...” Steve trailed off. He swallowed. “It’s just me.”

“What about friends? You must have friends?”

“I have Bucky,” Steve said. “He’s my best friend. But he travels a lot. Work. You know.”

“Not really,” Tony replied dryly.

“Sorry,” Steve smiled. 

“You must have more than one friend though.”

“I have you,” Steve said, looking at Tony.

Tony scowled. “I’m not your friend.”

“Then yeah, I guess I just have one friend.”

Steve turned back to the stars, barely visible above them through the light pollution. The weight on his chest was heavy, but - despite Tony’s claims that they were not friends - it was a little lighter with Tony by his side. Logically, Steve knew he should head home, but he couldn’t bring himself to move, not yet. 

Tony prodded his side. “Are you asleep?”

“No,” Steve smiled. 

Tony huffed and lay down beside him. 

“Do you know you can navigate using the stars?” he said, apropos of nothing. “I mean, humans can’t. Don’t. Not anymore. But it’s one of the first things you learn as a mer. So you can always find your way back home.”

“Where’s your home?” Steve asked, taking Tony’s hand.

Tony didn’t reply. Instead he pointed at the sky. 

“That’s a constellation you call Cassiopeia,” he explained. “See? It looks like a double-u. A wonky one. If you draw a straight line from the middle of the bigger v, you’ll find what you call Polaris.”

“The North Star, right?”

“Very good. You’re not a complete idiot like the majority of your species. If you find Polaris, you can navigate. You can work out east and west, even your latitude and longitude if you have the right equipment. You can go anywhere.”

Tony continued to explain about the stars above them, barely visible to Steve’s eyes through the light pollution. He suspected Tony’s eyesight, much like his hearing, was far above a human’s. The hostility and anger fell away from his face as he talked and Steve realised he’d forgotten to breathe, getting lost in Tony’s face.

“Thanks Tony,” Steve smiled.

“For what?”

“Trying to make me feel better.”

Tony scoffed. “That is not what I was doing.”

“Sure it isn’t.”

“Shut up,” Tony grumbled.

“You like me,” Steve teased, nudging his shoulder with his own.

“I absolutely do not.”“I’m your friend.”

“You are definitely not my friend,” Tony scoffed. 

But he didn’t pull away, didn’t slip back into the water and splash Steve with his tail. He lay on the cracked tile, both of them staring up at the night sky in silence, their fingers entwined. Steve couldn’t help but wonder if Tony’s heart was pounding as hard as his own. 


	7. Chapter 7

When Steve woke, he quickly became aware of two things. First, that he was awake before his alarm for the first time in maybe ever. 

And secondly, that he was hard. 

Which was… kinda unexpected. Because for the past year, his libido had been a bit of a no show, except for his first month in LA when he threw himself into the club scene trying to forget _why_ he’d run off to the other side of the country in the first place and he erroneously thought he could lose himself in an array of bodies. When it became apparent that the revolving door of hook ups was doing nothing to make him feel better, he gave up clubbing and actually found his own apartment instead of just spending the night with whoever he could find willing to take him home. 

Then everything started to sink in and his libido fucked off and honestly? Steve didn’t really miss it. Relationships were decidedly not his strong point - see aforementioned month long bed hopping incident - so as far as he was concerned his lack of libido was just one less complication. No need to worry about romantic entanglements if he could keep it in his pants.

But he’d been feeling better recently. Not good, he was still a long way from good, but better. Relaxing a little more. Steve huffed. _Clearly._

Part of him considered just ignoring it, taking a cold shower and forgetting all about it. But then he stepped into the shower, saw the shampoo bottle and registered that it was the exact colour of some of Tony’s scales and his dick twitched.

Before he knew what he was doing, Steve had reached down and taken himself in hand. A ridiculously short time later, he came to the thought of blue scales and mismatched eyes. 

Panting for breath, Steve hung his head below the shower spray. He cringed. He’d just jerked himself off to the thought of one of his best friends. That should be weird. It would be weird if it was Bucky. 

But something had changed between them since the night they watched the stars, when Tony went out of his way to try and make Steve feel better even though he denied being friends. The edge was gone from their teasing and they spent a lot of time watching each other or catching the other looking at them. It was…

It was good. 

It made Steve feel better than any of the people he’d slept with when he moved to LA. 

_Because you have a connection with Tony_ , a little voice whispered in his head. _You like him_. 

“Of course I like him,” Steve muttered, turning off the shower and grabbing his towel. “He’s my friend.”

 _You don’t get off on thoughts of Bucky, though_ , the voice argued. Steve told it to fuck off.

It was just because Tony was here. Steve saw him every day. It was proximity and nothing else. And maybe, if he said it enough, Steve would start to believe it. 

Now that he’d cleaned out the pool as best he could and fixed the pump and filter, there was nothing much for him to do at the mansion other than make sure Tony ate and took his antibiotics. Steve could see him filling out in front of his eyes, his skin losing that grey tinge and his eyes shining brightly. Soon, Tony would be healthy enough to return to the sea, once Steve figured out how exactly he was going to make that happen.

If he was honest with himself, he would miss Tony when he went. 

_I should take some photos_ , Steve thought to himself. _To remember him by._

And then guard them with his life, because no one could ever know - beyond Bruce and Steve himself - that mers existed. 

There was another option, Steve realised, as he unplugged his phone from the charger on his desk. He eyed the sketchpad he’d hastily shoved into the corner of the desk when he unpacked and then never touched again. Feeling strangely nervous, he reached out, plucking it from the pile and stuffing it into his backpack. He found an eraser and his pencils in his sock drawer, of all places, and threw them in too. 

He didn’t have to do anything with them, just because he took them to the mansion. But it was an option. 

Instead of going straight up to the mansion, Steve realised he was hungry and craving pancakes, so he headed to the diner down the street and bought a stack of pancakes drowned in syrup to go. He tore pieces off as he drove up to Hollywood Hills, which resulted in sticky fingerprints all over the wheel. Downing the last of his tea after he parked, Steve grabbed his backpack and climbed out of the car.

He took a lungful of air as he made his way along the trail towards the mansion, turning to look down over the city. He understood why Howard Stark had decided to build his home up here: the view was incredible. But, Steve thought as he vaulted over the wall, it was also incredibly cruel to keep a mer locked up so far away from the sea. Talk about rubbing salt in the wound. The faint splash of blue of the Pacific on the horizon was no doubt clearer to Tony’s sharp eyes; a constant taunt of the world he would never return to.

Well, not if Steve had anything to say about it.

“Morning,” he called as he arrived at the house.

“You’re in a good mood this morning,” Tony observed, lounging in the shallow end and flicking his tail lazily.

“I have pancakes,” Steve grinned, licking syrup from his wrist.

“You’re disgusting,” Tony informed him.

“Pot, meet kettle,” Steve grinned.

His eyes swept over Tony automatically and he flushed, trying to to think about the other reason why he felt so good today. He really didn’t want Tony to notice and ask why he was red, because explaining _I got off thinking about you this morning_ really wasn’t a conversation he was in a hurry to have.

“You don’t have to stick around, you know,” Tony said as Steve unpacked Tony’s fish and his own smoothie. 

“What else am I going to do? We’ve already established I don’t have friends.”

“You must have hobbies? People do that, right? I don’t know, you could collect stamps or something?”

“If you want rid of me, just say.”

“I don’t want rid of you,” Tony replied quickly and Steve smiled. Then, apparently realising what he’d said, Tony added, “I mean, obviously you’re human and annoying, but you’re the only entertainment I’ve got. If I don’t have you to make fun of, then I’m left with the local wildlife and those birds are assholes.”

“Oh, then they must be your best friends, since you have so much in common,” Steve teased.

Tony tensed, his eyes going distant, and Steve’s heart sank. Had he unknowingly tripped over one of Tony’s many triggers again? 

“Tony?”

“Shut up!” he hissed. 

And then Steve recognised the look in Tony’s eyes: fear. 

“There’s someone coming,” Tony whispered.

“Shit.” Steve glanced around, but where was the best place to hide? If it was other explorers, he’d probably be fine, but it could be someone looking for a safe place to sleep, or worse: security. He was frozen by indecision, but then Tony made the decision for him, lunging out of the water, grabbing Steve by the ankle and hauling him into the pool. Steve reemerged above the surface spluttering. Meeting Tony’s eyes, he took a gulp of air, filling his lungs, then let Tony pull him underwater.

The water stung his eyes, but Steve forced them open, letting Tony drag him down towards the overhang at the back of the pool. It was a poor approximation of a cave, clearly a half-hearted attempt to make Tony feel at home - if mers even lived in caves in the first place. Pressure built in Steve’s ears as they sank down. 

Tony pushed him beneath the overhang. Steve put one hand above his head to stop himself from floating up against the overhang, still clinging on to Tony with the other. Tony’s fingers were digging into his arm, but his head was lifted towards the surface.

Steve could hear nothing but the pounding of his own heart, but Tony could probably hear everything.

Tony turned to him, holding up a hand to wait. Steve nodded, reluctantly releasing Tony when he turned towards the surface. 

And then Steve was alone.

Underwater, with his chest growing tighter by the second, it took everything Steve had not to panic. Panicking would just result in him running out of oxygen even quicker, he reasoned. But, God, it was terrifying.

He heard a distant thump, muffled by the water pressing down on him.

Then Tony was there in front of him again and Steve reached for him, his fingers tangling with Tony’s, and Tony pulled him out of the overhang. Steve kicked his feet, helping Tony propel them upwards - not that Tony needed the help - and finally they burst through the surface.

Steve gasped for air, his chest heaving as his lungs welcomed the rush of oxygen. Suddenly, his clothes and boots felt heavy, dragging him back underwater. Steve grabbed to Tony’s shoulders for balance and felt Tony’s strong hands holding him up at the waist.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Tony was saying.

Steve clung to him, dropping his chin onto Tony’s shoulder, and focused on breathing.

“Who was it?” he panted.

“Just a bum,” Tony replied, his hand rubbing Steve’s back through his sodden shirt. “I scared him off.”

Steve nodded, still clinging to Tony. He’d come across homeless people living in abandoned buildings before. Most times, he had no problems, but there was that time he and Bucky were almost stabbed, so it was better to be safe than sorry. 

Realising he was still clinging to Tony, Steve pulled back. They shared an awkward look then without a word, Tony helped Steve towards the shallow end and the steps, falling back when Steve’s feet reached the bottom of the pool. 

“Shit,” Steve gasped, collapsing onto the floor.

“You okay?” Tony called. 

Steve opened his eyes and spotted Tony leaning worriedly against the edge of the pool.

He nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Just… wow. You’ve had ten years of that.”

“Well, it’s the first time I’ve had to worry about someone else as well,” Tony shrugged. 

“Yeah, I guess.” 

Steve dragged his backpack over to his side, searching for the hand towel he always carried in case of emergencies, then realised it was going to do very little to help considering how wet he was. He peeled his t-shirt off, sitting up to squeeze the water out of it before dropping it onto the tiled floor and letting his head hang.

His heart was still pounding in his ears.

He wasn’t afraid for himself, he realised belatedly. It was all Tony. He’d been terrified someone would see Tony, now that the water was clearer.

He had to find a way to get Tony out of there and fast. This was too close; Steve didn’t think he could live through another close call like that. 

Sighing, he untangled his laces, grimacing when he poured water out of his boots before tossing them aside. He wrestled himself out of his socks, wringing them out and dropping them on the floor by his abandoned t-shirt. At least he’d decided to wear board shorts today instead of jeans; they would dry quickly. 

Grabbing the towel, he dried himself off as best he could, scrubbing it over his hair. When he dropped the towel, he found Tony staring at him, his expression unreadable.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Tony said too quickly.

“Is my hair sticking up?”“Uh… Yes,” Tony nodded. “You look… utterly ridiculous.”

“I’m gonna let you get away with that since you just saved my skin,” Steve grinned.

A second later, Tony laughed then shook his head. “Lucky me,” he murmured. “We should mark the calendar. If I had a calendar.”

Steve chuckled. He hauled himself to his feet with a groan. “That’s more excitement than I wanted this morning.” He picked up his t-shirt and boots, carrying them outside to let them dry off in the sun. If he was lucky, his boots would be at least partially dry by the time he had to leave. 

Steve hesitated, looking down over the city once more. But this time, instead of seeing the beauty, he saw how many people out there could hurt Tony. And it terrified him.

* * *

“What are you doing?” Tony asked, hopping out of the pool and perching on the edge next to Steve. Water dripped from his shoulder onto Steve’s arm, and his tail came within a hair’s breadth of Steve’s feet as it swept back and forth through the water.

“Drawing.”

Steve glanced up to find Tony staring at the drawing with a funny expression on his face, and he wondered if he hated it. It had been a long time since he’d picked up a pencil with the intention of drawing, so it wasn’t exactly up to his old standards, but Steve didn’t hate it so far.

“Is that me?” Tony asked quietly.

“Yeah. I thought the tail kinda gave it away.”

“I’ve never seen…” Tony frowned, ignoring Steve’s poor attempt at a joke. “They always made me look human in pictures. It never looked… You’re good.”

“Thanks,” Steve smiled in relief. “I always wanted to be an artist when I grew up.”

“I don’t know, you still have time,” Tony grinned, poking Steve in the side. “To grow up, I mean.”

“You’re hilarious,” Steve retorted. “Asshole. What did you want to be when you grew up?”

Tony’s face fell again. “I wanted to build things.”

Something told Steve to stay silent. He remembered how easily Tony understood the instructions for the pump and filter, but he’d never questioned it outside of his own head.

“When I was a kid,” Tony began slowly, staring at the water. “I found this piece of tech in the water. It was dropped by, I don’t know, researchers or something.” There was a ghost of a smile on his face. “I spent hours taking it apart and trying to figure out how it worked.”

“Did you manage it?” Steve asked quietly. He’d never heard Tony mention anything about his life before the Starks.

Tony shook his head. “Statistically, most technology doesn’t have a great relationship with being underwater.”

“I’m sure you could’ve figured it out anyway,” Steve declared loyally.

Tony gave him a watery smile. “Thanks,” he muttered, his voice thick.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked, his fingers itching to reach out for Tony, desperate to comfort him in whatever way he could. He’d always been tactile, especially when it came to comfort.

“They used tech to capture me,” Tony admitted. “I found their camp, their boat. And I took a few things. I was a kid, I was curious. I wanted to know how things worked.”

“Oh, Tony…”

“Guess they noticed,” he continued, angrily swiping away a few stray tears. “Because then… Then one day there was this thing, this machine. And I’d never seen anything like it. And it was just sitting there.”

In his mind, Steve could see Tony, a tiny mer with wide eyes, desperate to learn.

“It was a trap,” Tony finished, pressing his lips together, his chin wobbling.

“I am so sorry,” Steve whispered. He wished fervently for the power to go back in time, to stop Maria Stark and her team from getting their grubby hands on Tony.

“Wasn’t your fault,” Tony shrugged.

“I’m still sorry,” Steve said, giving in to his instincts and taking Tony’s hand, locking their fingers together and giving his hand a gentle squeeze. 

Tony turned to him, their eyes locking, and said, “Thanks Steve.”

The corner of Steve’s mouth twitched upward and he gave Tony a sympathetic smile. He found himself getting lost in Tony’s eyes; the bright sparkling blue contrasting with the rich gold-flecked brown, and Steve wasn’t sure which one was his favourite. They were beautiful, Tony’s eyes, and so expressive.

And the longer they sat there, gazing into each other’s eyes, the more Steve realised that he was well and truly fucked.

* * *

Steve balanced on one foot, supporting the bag of takeout with his other knee to free up a hand to unlock his apartment. He winced, wobbling from side to side, biting back a growl because of course the lock had to choose today to stick. Without warning, it swung open and Steve stumbled into the apartment. Glaring at the door, Steve kicked it closed with a, “Yeah, well, screw you.”

“Steve?” Rhodey’s voice came through the apartment. “That you?”

“Uh, yeah. Just me,” Steve replied.

He put the straining bag on the table and leaned against a chair to catch his breath.

“Wow,” Rhodey exclaimed, emerging from his room. “That is a lot of food. Planning a feast?”

“Uh, actually I thought I’d get some for you,” Steve explained. “There’s probably enough for Sharon too, if you wanted to invite her over. But if you guys have plans, don’t worry about it. There’ll be leftovers tomorrow. Although I would not put money on there being any spring rolls left. Fair warning.”

Steve smiled, but Rhodey eyed him warily. 

“Why?” he asked bluntly.

“Well, um, I realise I haven’t been, exactly, great to live with the past year,” Steve winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “So I thought maybe this would be a good way to… to apologise. And tell you I’m gonna be better. Do better.”

Rhodey studied him silently, just long enough for Steve’s skin to start crawling, then he asked, “Did you get any black bean beef?”

“Uh, no.”

“Good. I hate it,” Rhodey grinned. “Let me call Sharon. And don’t steal all the prawn crackers, Rogers!”

“I’d worry more about the prawn toast,” Steve called. 

He let out the breath he’d been holding and grinned to himself, before moving into the kitchen to get plates and cutlery.

As they unpacked the food and waited for Sharon to arrive, Steve realised how little he actually knew about his roommate. 

“You’re a student, right?” he asked.

“Grad student,” Rhodey nodded. “I’m actually in the Air Force.”

“Wait, seriously? Cool.”

“I’m in my last year,” Rhodey explained. “I’m doing a placement with Stark Industries at the moment, which should hopefully lead to a military liaison position after I graduate.”

“Stark Industries,” Steve echoed. “Huh. Wow.”

“Yeah, Sharon works there too. That’s how we met.”

“Cool. What are you studying?”

“I’m a rocket scientist.”

“For real?”

Rhodey nodded. 

“That’s amazing. Wow.”

Tony would love talking to Rhodey, Steve thought to himself. They could talk science and technology and Tony would be in his element. Steve could picture the way his face would light up, his eyes dancing with excitement. It was impossible, but for a moment, Steve imagined introducing them in a world where Tony wasn’t under threat. 

“That’ll be Sharon,” Rhodey said when the buzzer rang, making Steve jump out of his skin as usual. “Hey babe, come on up,” he said into the speaker.

“See you in a minute!” a distorted version of Sharon’s voice replied.

A moment later, a rap on the door announced Sharon’s arrival and Rhodey crossed the room to let her in. Out the corner of his eye, Steve saw them kiss each other hello and smiled to himself. 

They were a cute couple.

“Hey Steve,” Sharon called.

“Hi Sharon,” he smiled. “How’s things?”

“Better now there’s food,” she grinned. “Ooh, crispy beef! Nice!”

They shifted to the coffee table, Sharon and Rhodey claiming the couch while Steve made himself a seat from a pile of cushions before digging in. It was… nice. Good. Kind of awkward, but Steve knew that was his fault. He’d rejected all the entreaties made by both of them for a year, and it had left this wedge between them. If he was going to try and befriend them, he would have to work on removing that wedge, and Steve wasn’t under any illusions it would just disappear thanks to one meal.

But it was a start. 

And that was enough.

Rhodey had a dry humour that reminded Steve of Tony, and an innocent expression which belied a talent for the dirtiest double entendres Steve had ever heard - and he was friends with Bucky Barnes. Meanwhile, Sharon was quick and intelligent and could deliver the most deadpan humour before using their distraction to unrepentantly steal the last spring roll from right underneath Steve’s nose.

“You know,” Sharon said when they’d collapsed on the verge of a food coma. “There’s this girl at work who would be perfect for you, Steve.”

Steve shook his head, stealing another piece of prawn toast even though he stopped being hungry about twenty minutes and three slices of toast ago. “‘m gay,” he replied around a mouthful of toast.

“Oh, even better!” Sharon brightened. “There’s this guy, Tom, you know him, babe,” she said to Rhodey. “In IT? Dark curly hair, kinda shy, but a really nice guy.”

“Oh yeah. He’s cute,” Rhodey nodded.

“If you want I can give him your number?” Sharon offered.

“I appreciate the offer,” Steve replied. “But, uh, no thanks.”

“Are you seeing somebody?”

“Not right now.”

“But there’s somebody you like?” she smirked.

“No,” Steve shook his head. But his mind flashed back to that morning, hiding underwater with Tony’s hand in his, clinging to Tony when they resurfaced. To the moment when he held Tony’s hand and stared into his eyes and realised he wanted nothing more than to close the distance between them and kiss him. “There’s nobody.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Did you go nuts at the market or something?” Tony frowned as Steve unloaded the boxes of fish and fruit.

“Uh, no. I’m going to be late tomorrow,” Steve explained, “So I thought I’d bring extra tonight.”

“Oh. Are you back to work, or…?”

“Not yet. My roommate’s work is having this thing. Event thing. And he gets a plus one, but because his girlfriend also works there, they asked if I wanted to go with them and I said yes.”

“Look at you,” Tony grinned, but there was something off about his smile. “Out there making friends. Almost like a real boy. Careful, you don’t want anyone to realise you’re really made of wood.”

“Oh, and who are you? Geppetto?” Steve retorted.

“I am better at building things than you,” Tony nodded sagely.

“That’s not a high bar. That proves nothing,” Steve argued, but he was laughing because teasing Tony like this was one of the highlights of his day. The heat was gone from their barbs now; instead, their arguing was comforting.

“True,” Tony agreed, giggling when Steve gasped loudly in mock offence.

Steve loved making Tony laugh. He doubted he’d had much to laugh about over the past few years - maybe ever - so Steve made it his mission to find ways to elicit laughter from him every day.

He carefully avoided mentioning that the thing he was attending the following day was at Stark Industries. He wasn’t sure how Tony felt about Howard’s company and he was afraid it might ruin their friendship if he mentioned that Rhodey and Sharon worked there. But neither was he willing to refuse their invite. They were slowly building a friendship, and as much as Steve cared about Tony, he wouldn’t be around forever. He’d finished his course of antibiotics and looked healthier than ever. As soon as Steve worked out how he was going to get Tony out of the house and down to the ocean, Tony would be free and Steve would never see him again.

That thought shouldn’t hurt as much as it did.

“Well, I hope you have a good time,” Tony said, breaking Steve’s reverie. 

“Thanks,” Steve smiled.

* * *

Steve tipped his head back, taking in his surroundings as he followed Rhodey and Sharon into Stark Industries for the first time. The sun shone brightly through the glass walls, glinting off of the brushed metal surfaces, and it should’ve been sweltering but the air conditioning kept the building a pleasant temperature despite the sun and the press of bodies milling about the atrium. 

“It’s weird seeing all of them out of suits,” Sharon whispered.

“I know, right?” Rhodey agreed.

Steve smiled but the joke didn’t have the same effect for him, considering he’d never met any of these people before in his life. A waitress, with _Stark Industries_ emblazoned across her t-shirt, materialised at his side with a tray covered in champagne glasses; Steve took one filled with orange juice and nodded his thanks, clinging to the glass like a lifeline as he followed Rhodey and Sharon further into the crowd.

There were a lot of people here.

Steve found himself glancing around, wondering if any of them knew Howard and what they would think if they knew he’d kept a mer captive in his pool. A chill ran down his spine. Maybe some of them did know.

“So,” Sharon smirked at Rhodey, “Do you think Stark’s going to be here?”

Steve’s ears pricked up. 

Rhodey snorted. “Yeah, sure. And maybe after, pigs will fly.”

“What are you talking about?” Steve frowned. 

“Tony Stark,” Sharon explained and Steve’s heart did a stupid little leap. “He never comes to these things. He never comes to anything.”

“I don’t understand?”

“For a company that has his name on the building, I don’t think he’s ever set foot in it.” Rhodey rolled his eyes. Steve fought to keep his expression neutral. Rhodey continued, “The only thing he’s interested in is how much money we can make for him.”

“He’s supposed to be some kind of genius,” Sharon added. “But honestly? He’s just riding on the coattails of everyone here.”

“Right,” Steve muttered, grinding his teeth and glaring a little at Rhodey and Sharon’s backs. It wasn’t their fault, he tried to remind himself. They didn’t know Tony. They didn’t know that he _was_ some kind of genius, or that the Starks were a pair of assholes who abused a child for their own ridiculous gains. 

“Come on, Mr Stane’s about to make his speech,” Sharon called, grabbing Rhodey’s hand and dragging him further into the crowd, glancing over her shoulder to check that Steve was following. 

“Good afternoon, everyone,” a voice boomed and Steve winced. The owner of the voice, a balding man with a greying beard, stood on a podium which elevated him above the crowd.

Obadiah Stane. 

Steve recognised him from various new reports and magazine covers over the years. It was hard to live in America and not know who Obadiah Stane was. He was up there with Bill Gates and Steve Jobs and Jeff Bezos as businessmen whose fame went beyond the business community. 

The crowd pushed forward, as though everyone wanted to be closer to Stane, attracted by his mere presence. It certainly wasn’t to be able to hear better; Steve suspected they would all hear Stane just as well without the microphone. He shifted nervously from foot to foot, the crush of people causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand up. 

“Welcome, welcome one and all,” Stane continued. “Colleagues, family, friends. Welcome to the Stark Industries Annual Mixer. It’s been another wonderful year, and I am so proud of the work you’ve all put in. Now, I know you were all hoping to see Tony,” Stane added with a wry grin, and Steve’s breath caught. “But unfortunately, Mr Stark couldn’t make it.”

A ripple of laughter ran through the crowd and Steve saw Rhodey and Sharon roll their eyes at each other. They weren’t the only ones; he noticed several eye rolls and huffs from various people throughout the crowd. His skin prickled. What was going on?

“I know, I know,” Stane chuckled, his eyes glinting. “But you know Tony. Always working.”

The sarcasm in his tone was thick enough to be cut with a knife, and it was followed by a mixture of laughter and disgruntled grumbling from the crowd. Steve scowled.

“What can you do?” Stane mock-sighed, spreading his hands. “He’s the boss. But despite all of that, _I_ know how hard you all work. And despite fighting against a ‘futurist’ who seems to be stuck in the past, we have made some incredible progress this year. So enjoy yourselves. You’ve earned it.”

The crowd clapped and cheered, and there were even a couple of whistles, which made Steve jump. He glared at them all. Why was Stane talking about Tony as though he knew him? And all those comments implying Tony didn’t care about the Stark employees, or was actively fighting against Stane? The only thing Tony was fighting for was to stay alive.

“Come on,” Rhodey said, breaking through Steve’s thoughts. “Let’s get something to eat.”

“Ooh, yeah,” Sharon nodded. “I hope they have cheeseburgers like last year.”

“Those were amazing,” Rhodey agreed, moving into the crowd. Steve followed slowly, glancing around and wondering if he’d made a mistake in coming here. 

“Oh, I see Maria,” Sharon announced. “Steve, over here.”

“I’ll catch up,” he replied, because his attention was caught by a portrait hanging beside the elevators. 

The artist was good, because it was clearly Tony, sitting on Maria’s lap, but he was smiling happily and Steve knew without a doubt that Tony had never been happy when the Starks were alive.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?”

Steve jumped, whirling around to find Obadiah Stane towering over him. Not that Stane was taller than Steve - very few people were taller than Steve - but there was something about him that made Steve feel small again. Maybe it was the arrogant little smile playing about his lips. Maybe it was the tilt of his head, which screamed power and control. Maybe it was the way he stood a little too close to Steve, considering they were strangers and there was a good three feet between them and anyone else in the room.

“It’s an excellent painting,” Steve replied diplomatically, hiding the fact he wanted nothing more than to tear it from the wall and destroy it. 

“You know about art?”

“Yes,” he nodded. _More than you_ , he thought. 

“Obadiah Stane,” Stane said, shifting his tumbler of what looked like whisky to his other hand and sticking his cigar between his teeth. 

“Steve Rogers,” Steve replied, shaking Stane’s hand and refusing to wince at his vice-like grip.

Stane grinned knowingly. “So what department are you in?” Stane asked, removing the cigar. 

“I’m not. I’m here with my roommate. James Rhodes.”

“Ah, Rhodes. Good kid,” Stane nodded. He indicated to the portrait. “You an artist?”

“Not really,” Steve shook his head. “I used to be. But, uh… I still have an interest.”

“I like to come down here and look at it, almost every day,” Stane mused. “Pretend he’s still with us. The day Howard Stark died, we all suffered. A loss for the whole world.”

Steve hummed. Privately he thought the world was better off without Howard Stark, and not just because of the way he’d treated Tony. Steve didn’t think the man who’d built some of the deadliest weapons in America’s history was any great loss. 

“So, the way you were talking earlier, it seems like he’s not really involved, then, hmm? Tony, I mean?” Steve asked casually. 

Stane smiled coldly. “Why the interest? Are you a journalist or something?”

“No,” Steve laughed.

“No?” Stane echoed, but despite the smile, his eyes were ice cold. 

“No,” Steve repeated. “I’m… I’m just an interested party.”

“Then why the interest?”

Steve fished for an answer but came up empty. He gave Stane an awkward smile and shrugged, praying they could leave it at that. Stane gave a satisfied smirk, as though Steve’s silence gave him all the answer he needed. 

“No,” Stane said eventually, throwing Steve momentarily off balance. “Tony isn’t around. He was never made for this world.”

_No. He wasn’t._

“He was never quite right,” Stane continued. “After his parents died. Who can blame him? Losing both parents like that.” Stane _tsked_. “A terrible thing, losing a parent like that. It breaks you.”

Steve’s breath caught.

_No. He can’t know._

“It’s terrible, yeah,” Steve agreed. “But people are stronger than they look. They can surprise you.”

“You have no idea, Mr Rogers,” Stane murmured, eyeing him over the top of his glass. Then he clapped a hand on Steve’s shoulder with surprising strength. “Well, it was nice to meet you. If you’ll excuse me.”

“No, of course,” Steve replied, stifling a wince. “You must be a busy man.”

“You have no idea.” Stane moved into the crowd and Steve watched it part like the Red Sea, his booming voice calling, “General! Good to see you.”

Staring after Stane for another moment, Steve turned and went in search of Rhodey and Sharon. And when he noticed Stane watching him throughout the morning, he tried to tell himself it was just a coincidence.

But in his heart, Steve knew it wasn’t.

* * *

It didn’t make sense. Or, rather, it made too much sense. Because the fact was, if Tony had simply “disappeared”, then why would Stane be making all those references to Tony’s lack of interest in the company? The possible only explanation was that Stane _knew_ about Tony. 

But even then, why bother? Why drag Tony’s name through the mud like that? It wasn’t like he could turn up and _defend_ himself. There was no reason to mention Tony at all, unless…

Unless Tony had a right to Stark Industries.

Suddenly things began to make sense. It explained why Stane had abandoned Tony after the Starks died; because the company was supposed to be his. Steve didn’t know how, considering Tony shouldn’t even exist, but Howard Stark was a rich and powerful man and he’d made no secret of Tony - just the fact that he had a tail - so Steve suspected that Howard had found a way to leave the company to him.

Steve shook his head, gripping the steering wheel as he drove through Hollywood Hills. “Bastard,” he muttered. He wasn’t sure if he was referring to Stane or Stark. Maybe both. 

When he arrived at the Stark Mansion, Steve headed straight for Howard’s office. He jogged down the spiral staircase without calling out a hello to Tony or giving Tony any indication that it was him. The office door was still swollen and needed all his weight to open it. That fact was probably the only thing that had kept years of thieves, homeless people, and explorers from rummaging through Howard’s papers and finding potentially damaging evidence of Tony’s existence. 

The window into the pool was no longer covered in weeds and dirt, but Tony was nowhere in sight. His jaw clenched in determination, Steve began to search, rummaging through the stacks of paper for evidence of the theory which had been formulating in his mind all morning. 

“Jesus Christ, Howard. Haven’t you ever heard of filing?” Steve growled. There were papers everywhere. Some of them were probably important - there were some that looked like bank statements and designs - but Steve ignored them all.

He was looking for something very specific.

And, eventually, he found it. 

Sitting on top of a filing cabinet, hidden behind a stack of files and a drinks tray covered in half or near empty bottles, he found a gold photo frame. Wiping the dust away with his thumbs, Steve shook his head as his suspicions were confirmed: Howard and a younger, thinner Obadiah Stane sat on the edge of the pool, drinks in hand, grinning at the camera. And pinned to Howard’s side by an arm around his shoulder was Tony. 

He looked maybe eleven or twelve, and his expression was one of abject misery. Steve’s blood boiled. How anyone could have believed Tony was happy was beyond him. But there was nothing he could do about Howard or Maria Stark.

“You, on the other hand,” Steve murmured, glaring at Obadiah Stane’s smug expression. 

Photo in hand, Steve climbed back to the ground floor. 

“I thought I heard someone,” Tony called, popping out of the water. “What’s going on? How was the thing?”

“Uh, fine,” Steve frowned. He kicked off his shoes, rolling up his jeans as he sat on the ground and slipped his feet into the water. “Tony, can I ask you something?”

“Okay,” Tony replied slowly, eyeing Steve speculatively. “What’s up?”

“Do you know this guy?” Steve asked, holding up the photo. He tapped his finger below Stane’s face.

He watched Tony’s expression carefully; his face remained blank, but his eyes - always his eyes - flashed with pain and hatred. 

“That’s Obadiah Stane. Howard’s business partner.”

“And he knows- knew? About you?” Steve pressed. “I mean, I can see your tail in this picture. So he knew the truth, right?”

“He knew,” Tony confirmed, looking across the room, his eyes unseeing. 

Steve clenched his fists, his anger growing. “But he never told you when they died? Or, or came to help you or anything?”

“No.” Tony glared into the water. Then his whole body language changed, the tension disappearing from his shoulders and he grinned lasciviously up at Steve. “Hey, did you know I can hold my breath for twenty minutes?”

And _oh_. Steve’s heart broke a little. Because Tony put on a good show, but his smile was just a little too wide, his eyes a little pinched at the corners, and an air of desperation ruined the illusion. 

He was terrified.

“Really?” 

“Oh yeah.” Tony swam forward. “I can demonstrate if you like?”

Steve’s traitorous heart jumped, but his brain reminded it that Tony didn’t mean it. He was only offering to distract Steve from discussing Stane - for reasons Steve was almost afraid to contemplate. Under normal circumstances, he would never offer something like that. Because Tony was smart. He wasn’t stupid enough to fall for someone like Steve. 

“Maybe another time,” he smiled.

There wouldn’t be another time.

“Okay…” Tony’s expression faltered for half a second. “Hey, did you know that dolphins are dicks?”

Steve laughed. “Are they?”

“Uh huh. Total assholes. I know they get a good rep, but the truth is they do not live up to the hype. I remember this one time when I was a kid…”

Tony launched into his story, and Steve let him go, because the last thing he wanted to do was hurt Tony. He watched Tony talk, watched the way his face lit up as he lost himself in his storytelling.

It was beautiful.

 _Tony_ was beautiful. 

_I’m falling in love with him_ , Steve realised. _And I’m going to have to say goodbye to him_.

Even as he smiled at Tony, Steve’s throat grew tight. He tried to clear it as quietly as possible to hide the fact his heart was breaking. 

As much as he wished it wasn’t the case, they couldn’t have a happy ending together. Tony was going back to the ocean, of that Steve was determined, and there was no way for them to be together when he lived on land and Tony lived in the sea. Even if they wanted to try, the risk of being discovered was too high. 

Steve couldn’t have his happy ending, but he could make sure Tony got one. And that was enough.

Silently, he swore to do whatever it took to protect Tony.

He smiled.

It felt good to have a mission.


	9. Chapter 9

Steve tried not to fidget as he waited for Rhodey to get home from work, nerves twisting in his stomach. Looking for a distraction, he pulled out his phone and opened up the tab still sitting on the contact page for Dr. Helen Cho. Every few days, he would open the tab and stare at it for a while before chickening out and closing it again. 

Today his thumb hesitated over the message box, but then he heard keys in the lock and scrambled to his feet, locking his phone and slipping it into his pocket as he turned to face the door. Rhodey stumbled in, coming to a halt when he saw Steve standing there. Steve gave an awkward little wave, and Rhodey’s eyes narrowed as suspicion coloured his expression. 

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Steve lied.

“Uh huh. Wanna try that again?”

Steve took a deep breath. “I need your help.”

“Okay… With what?”

“Uh… Okay, this is kinda complicated,” Steve sighed. “I need your help in looking into Stark Industries.”

“Stark Industries,” Rhodey echoed slowly. “As in… the company I work for?”

“That’s the one.”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Rhodey muttered. He tossed his keys into the bowl and crossed the room so they were face to face. Folding his arms, he raised an eyebrow. “And why do you want to do that?”

“Because…” Steve swallowed. “Because I know Tony Stark. Like, really know him. In real life. I’ve met him and I guess we’re friends, kind of. Although he’s a bit of an asshole. Understandably. And then I went with you to that event at Stark Industries and it doesn’t make sense, all those things Stane was saying about Tony not caring. It’s bullshit. Tony’s not involved in the company. At all. Stane is lying and I don’t know why. I mean, I think I know why, but to be sure I need your help.”

“That… was a lot of words.”

“Look, I know you think you know what kind of person Tony is,” Steve said. “But you don’t. You really don’t. Tony has nothing. He’s… He’s sick. And he’s struggling. And I just want to help him. He’s an asshole but he’s a good guy. And he doesn’t deserve the _shit_ that Stane is spreading about him.”

“Why doesn’t Tony Stark just walk in and ask Stane himself?”

“He can’t. I told you, he’s sick. He can’t go out.”

“Then how did you meet him?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time.”

“It’s not my story to tell,” Steve tried instead. “Look, Tony… Tony’s a good person. He doesn’t have anything and I think it’s Stane’s fault. But I have no way of proving it. I just want Tony to get what belongs to him. I just want to take care of him.”

“What, are you in love with him or something?” Rhodey snorted.

“Or something,” Steve winced.

“Shit. Really?” Rhodey’s eyes widened. “He doesn’t feel the same way…?”

“He doesn’t know,” Steve shook his head. “Trust me, it’s better this way.”

Rhodey studied him. Steve fought the urge to fidget, his skin crawling under Rhodey’s scrutiny, clenching his fists and standing tall.

“What do you need to know?”

Hope bloomed in Steve’s chest. A slow smile spread across his face. 

“You’re gonna help me?”

“I must be an idiot, but… Sure. Yeah. I’ll help.”

“Thank you,” Steve said emphatically. “Thank you so much, Rhodey. I don’t know I’m going to repay you.”

“I’m sure I can think of something,” Rhodey smiled. “So where do we start?”

“Uh… I have no idea,” Steve admitted. “I’m making this up as I go along.”

“You astound me. Okay, first we need to confirm who actually owns the company.”

“And how do we do that?”

Rhodey sat down on the sofa, picking up his laptop and opening it on the coffee table. He started typing, then paused, glancing up. “You gonna sit down, or just loom in the corner like a particularly buff vampire?”

“Right,” Steve shook his head. He sat down beside Rhodey.

“Alright, so we can look on the Secretary of State’s website for the company details,” Rhodey explained. “If we do a business search for… Stark Industries. And here we go. Statement of information. Corporate name… address… Ah! CEO: Anthony Edward Stark. Stark’s the CEO.”

“But that address, that’s the Stark Mansion. It’s abandoned,” Steve pointed out. “Okay, but, Tony is not running that company. Trust me.”

“His name is on everything at work,” Rhodey shrugged. “Are you sure Stark isn’t involved? I don’t know, secretly?”

“Positive.”

Rhodey hummed, running his hands over his head, and sighed. “So, we think Stane cut Stark out? Is that what we’re saying? Like, dirty dealings, under the table, that kind of thing?”

“I don’t know the technical terms but yeah, that sounds about right. How can we prove it?”

“If there _is_ anything to prove,” Rhodey cautioned. “I’m still not one hundred percent sure I believe you.”

They delved into research - or, more accurately, Rhodey delved into research and Steve supplied him with snacks and sodas - and confirmed that, on paper at least, Tony was the CEO of Stark Industries and a majority shareholder. 

“I don’t really know anything about business,” Steve said, “But doesn’t that mean they need him to make… any decisions?”

“They should,” Rhodey said grimly. “If we could see the minutes from the shareholders’ meetings, we could see when Stark was last at one.”

“Never. I can tell you right now he’s never been to one.”

“You remember that thing I keep saying about proof?”

“Yeah, sorry. I know,” Steve sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face. “It’s just, it’s hard for me to be objective here.”

“I wanna help,” Rhodey said slowly. “And I’m starting to agree there might be something weird going on here, but if we’re going to do anything about it, we need proof.”

Steve nodded slowly, an idea starting to form in his mind. Or more of an outline of an idea.

“You look like you’re about to do something stupid,” Rhodey frowned.

“Usually,” Steve shrugged. “But this time, I’m probably going to need help.”

“Oh no.”

“Look, just hear me out.”

“Oh no,” Rhodey shook his head.

“Come on,” Steve cried. “He’s up to something. Stane is… He’s practically stealing!”

“Then go to the cops.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Is anything in your life not complicated?” Rhodey huffed.

Steve cringed. “… Not really, no. But you said it yourself, I have no proof.”

“You have Stark,” Rhodey argued.

“Not an option.” 

“Then…”

“Please,” Steve begged. “Just help me get proof. Help me find a way to get proof, and I’ll get it myself.”

“You can’t,” Rhodey muttered.

“Why?”

“Because if there is proof, it’s going to be on his computer. Probably in a ghost drive. Do you know what a ghost drive is?”

“Casper on a road trip?”

Rhodey stared at him. “Dude.”

“Sorry,” Steve grinned. “So, you’ll help me?”

“I must be an idiot, but yeah. I’m gonna help you.”

“Help me do what?” Steve added.

“We’re going to commit corporate espionage.”

Steve grinned. “You’re the best roommate ever.”

“Man, you have no idea.”

* * *

There was only one tiny flaw in their plan; the following day, Rhodey received last minute orders to take part in a training exercise which wouldn’t see him return home until late. Steve was loath to wait longer than he had to, a voice in the back of his head telling him that Stane was up to something and the longer they waited, the worse it would be. So Rhodey suggested bringing in Sharon. She was Stane’s assistant and could get Steve into the building at a time when Stane was out and wouldn’t return. 

Sharon showed surprising zeal towards the whole plan. “I think she wanted to be a spy,” Rhodey mused.

“Or she was one, in another life,” Steve joked.

“Maybe,” Rhodey nodded.

Which was how Steve ended up making his way into Stark Industries the following morning, in a clean shirt and his smartest pair of jeans, following Sharon and trying to look like he belonged there. He accepted his visitor’s badge with trepidation; if he was on the visitor’s log then Stane could find out he’d been there.

 _He doesn’t know_ , Steve tried to tell himself. _It’s all in your head. There’s no way Stane could know that you know about Tony._

Rhodey gave him a special USB drive, with a programme written onto it that would, Rhodey assured him, get all the information they needed and copy it without leaving a trace. 

“You wrote this?” Steve asked when Rhodey handed it over.

“If the government or the military asks, no I did not,” Rhodey replied. “I’d rather not get thrown out of the Air Force.”

Guilt swarmed through Steve’s veins. Some of it must’ve shown on his face, because Rhodey added, “But if I do, it’s for a good cause.”

“You think?” Steve smiled.

“I trust you.”

That was a strange feeling, trust. And the fact that it went both ways? Even stranger. Steve found himself trusting a veritable plethora of people who weren’t Bucky these days. As well as Rhodey and Sharon, there was Bruce, who he had an ever-growing text chain with. And then there was Tony.

Tony was a whole other kettle of fish. 

And not just because of the tail.

Steve followed Sharon into the elevator, which rose smoothly into the air, ignoring the curious looks from the other occupants. A quiet ding announced their arrival and Steve gladly followed her along the corridor.

“Stane’s at a meeting with Boeing for another hour,” Sharon murmured, leading the way into her office.

“Great,” Steve nodded, eyeing the shining mahogany doors which led to Stane’s office. In another world, this would be Tony’s office, he realised. 

“Ready?” Sharon asked.

“Too late to ask where the bathroom is, right?” Steve joked.

Sharon grinned, unlocking Stane’s office, and then he slipped inside.

His heart pounded in his ears as he crossed the plush carpet towards the floor to ceiling windows and the glass desk spanning the room. Steve rounded the desk, wiggling the mouse to wake the computer to wake it, then stuck the USB drive into the port. A window popped up with a progress bar, folders flicking open and closed behind it as it copied everything across.

The progress bar inched across far too slowly for his liking. Steve itched to do something. He didn’t do well with inaction, which really should’ve been his first clue that something wasn’t right when he moved to LA. 

He glanced around the fancy office. There was something about the room which made his skin crawl. There were no pictures, no knick-knacks or personalising features of any kind, he realised. He flicked open the top drawer, hoping for the regular detritus of a desk, anything that would humanise Stane and make the whole place seem less creepy. 

Instead, Steve found himself staring into a fishing tackle box. He reached down, picking up the largest hook and lifting it to his eye level. A shiver ran down his spine as he stared at the barbed hook. In his mind, he saw it digging into red and gold flecked blue scales, blood erupting around it. 

Steve swallowed.

The door swung open and his heart jumped to his throat. Steve dropped the hook but it was just Sharon. Before he could relax, though, he caught sight of her wide eyes.“Stane is back,” she hissed.

“Shit!” 

“How long to go?” Sharon asked, hurrying to his side. They stared at the progress bar: only four fifths done.

“Fuck,” Steve muttered.

Their heads snapped up as Stane’s laughter bounced off of the walls. Steve’s chest felt tight and he couldn’t breathe properly. It was all going to fall apart, and they were _so close_. 

But while he was panicking, Sharon snapped into action. She shifted the newspaper sitting on the corner of the desk so it covered the USB drive, then hopped onto the desk, unbuttoning the top two buttons on her shirt. “Don’t freak out,” she ordered.

Then she grabbed the front of his shirt, yanked him forward and kissed him.

Steve’s hands waved in the air for a second before his mind caught up with what was happening. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he stepped closer, feeling her cloth-covered legs wrap around his waist. Fighting the urge to squirm, Steve deepened the kiss, pressing her back into the desk and slipping a hand below her shirt.

“Ahem.”

Steve sprang back, his heart pounding and his face flushed, and found Obadiah Stane watching them with an amused expression on his face.

“Mr Stane!” Sharon gasped, scrambling off of the desk and hastily rebuttoning her shirt. “Um, I… thought you weren’t going to be back for a while.”

“Clearly,” Stane smirked.

Steve pressed his hands against his hips, trying not to look too guilty. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the progress bar inching towards full. 

“I am so sorry,” Sharon gushed, tucking her shirt back into her pants.

“Mr Rogers, wasn’t it?” Stane asked, turning to Steve. “We met at the party.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve nodded.

Stane hummed, just as the progress bar reached the end, the window disappearing. 

“Let me just…” Sharon frantically began tidying the desk, slipping the USB from its port as she lifted the newspaper. Steve had no idea where she put it, but it vanished from her hand. “Again, Mr Stane, I am so very sorry about this. Steve?”“Right,” Steve nodded and they hurried towards the door.

“Not half as sorry as your boyfriend will be, I’m sure,” Stane mused. “Is that today’s paper?”

They froze.

“Yes. It is,” Sharon replied and Steve had no idea how her voice managed to remain so calm. She handed over the paper, and there was still no sign of the USB. Steve had to trust that she had it. 

Stane gave a final, shark-like smile, then Steve and Sharon turned towards the door and walked away as quickly as they could without raising suspicions. They forewent the elevators in favour of the stairs, Sharon’s heels clacking on the glass steps as they hurried towards the ground floor. 

* * *

Steve sat cross-legged on the couch, his laptop balanced on his knees, surrounded by papers, dirty dishes, and two passed-out friends. Rhodey was star-fished on the other end of the couch, a wad of papers teetering over the edge of the cushions as his grip turned lax in sleep, while Sharon was curled up in the armchair, her arms wrapped around her iPad like a teddy bear. Steve spared them a glance, smiling to himself, before scooping more ice cream from the tub and sticking the spoon in his mouth as he continued scrolling through the files they’d found on the USB drive. 

He said a silent prayer of thanks that he’d trusted Rhodey and Sharon enough to bring them into this. Without their respective knowledge and expertise, he never would’ve been able to decipher the technical and legal jargon, all of which amounted to this: Howard Stark left Stark Industries to Tony.

Only Stane had turned up with a document claiming that Tony had made him his representative, complete with fake signature from Tony and witnessed by an obviously crooked lawyer. The document gave Stane carte blanche to run the company however he saw fit - and freedom to blame Tony for anything that went wrong. That discovery sent Sharon on a twenty minute rant against Stane, and Steve decided he was a little bit in love with her after that. He’d told her that she should consider a career change to the FBI or the CIA and she’d replied, “I just might!”

But the pièce de résistance was the email chain Steve was currently scrolling through. A very detailed, very incriminating conversation between Stane and a psychologist he was clearly blackmailing into signing Tony off as unfit to run his own company - a company Tony didn’t even realise he owned - so that Stane could take control and publicly blacken Tony’s name forever.

“That’s not necessary,” Steve muttered to himself. “He’s not going to do anything to you. Why can’t you just let him go?”

His only reply was a snore from Rhodey. 

Closing the email chain, after hitting print so they had a hard copy of everything, Steve turned his attention to the final folder, which seemed to contain PDFs of scanned documents. He scraped out the last of the melting ice cream, holding the spoon between his teeth as he double clicked on the first icon. 

Steve frowned.

His frown deepened as he continued to read, followed by panic as he made his way through the documents. Documents that belonged to Howard Stark, proving how he’d had Tony registered as his biological son. Everything was in there, from the birth certificate to social security number, giving Stane everything he needed to bring Howard and Tony down. 

And at the very end of the folder was a single note: the number of every aquarium and marine institute in the LA area.

“You fucking bastard,” Steve breathed.

The pieces fell into place in quick succession: Stane would try to remove Tony legally, but if that failed, he would expose Howard and Maria for the monsters they were and have Tony thrown in a tank at SeaWorld, all so he could keep the power he’d grown accustomed to. 

Steve printed out copies of the PDFs, hiding them in his bedroom before returning to his laptop. Glancing at Rhodey and Sharon, he felt a burst of guilt before deleting that file forever.

He trusted them, would even go as far as to say they were his friends, but he wouldn’t risk Tony like that. 

He couldn’t.


	10. Chapter 10

Tony stared into the pool, his eyes unseeing, and Steve had to sit on his hands, pressing them against the cool tile, to stop himself from reaching out to him. He’d just finished explaining everything to Tony, from his suspicions about Stane to his break-in to figuring out Stane’s evil plans. He hated seeing it hurt Tony, but he figured Tony deserved to know. He’d been denied the right to his own life for so long. 

“Tony?” Steve said softly. 

Tony raised his head, and his eyes were shining with tears. “Wish I knew what I’d done to make everyone hate me so much,” he whispered with a humourless smile.

“Not everyone hates you,” Steve insisted. “I don’t.”

“You’re one person, Steve,” Tony replied, his voice choked. 

“So, what? I don’t count?” Steve asked roughly, and he felt his own eyes getting wet.

“No, that’s not- I never asked for this,” Tony hissed. “Any of it. I never asked to be taken away, or for my family to abandon me. To be made human. To be hurt or abandoned. I never wanted this.”

“I know,” Steve replied. He shifted onto his knees, crawling closer to the edge of the pool. “I know. Tony. I’m going to protect you. I promise. I will do whatever it takes to get you out of here and protect you. Whatever it takes.”

Tony looked at him, but his eyes were filled with defeat. He shook his head.

“You can’t, Steve.”

Then he disappeared underwater, leaving Steve alone. 

Steve bit his lip, leaning his weight on his fists and feeling tiny pieces of grit biting into his skin. It hurt, but it felt good.

 _No_.

He fell back onto his ass instead, wrapping his arms around his knees and gulping. The tears pressed more insistently at his eyes now, followed by the burn of anger and frustration at his complete and utter inability to do anything to protect Tony.

“Useless,” he muttered. “You’re useless.”

He scrubbed at the moisture leaking from his eyes, then climbed to his feet, marching out of the house and across the terrace, trying to put some distance between himself and Tony. Spotting a large piece of broken masonry, Steve kicked it into the garden scrub with a roar.

Useless. He was useless. 

Panting for breath, Steve let his head hang. He shook his head. Why did he think he could do anything? He couldn’t get Tony out of here, he couldn’t take down Stane. Hell, he couldn’t even take care of himself. What hope did he have of helping anyone else?

With a growl of frustration, he let his head fall back, the sun warming his face.He opened his eyes, staring up at the house blindly.

Wait.

Steve frowned. He started to look at the house, really look at it. Because something wasn’t adding up. 

He’d explored the whole house, but he’d never been in _that_ room. He would remember, because he’d never looked down upon the garden from that angle, never seen the mermaid fountain beside him from above. Steve hurried round the house; that was the library, both levels, and there was a second level over the hallway too. He returned to the back of the house, looking up the entire time.

He’d never been in that section of the upper floor. Then it was the bedrooms and the hallway.

“What the fuck?” Steve muttered.

That part of the house obviously existed - he was looking at it - but what was the point of building completely inaccessible rooms?

Steve hurried into the entrance hall, taking the stairs two at a time and rushing into the bedrooms on that side of the house, running his hands over the walls where there should be a door, if the house’s design made any sense at all. 

“This house was designed by Howard Stark,” Steve reminded himself. “Don’t think logically. If the door’s not here, then it must be on the other side, and the other side is… Library. You’re not that much of a cliché, are you, Howard? Are you?”

Turning on his heel, Steve sprinted back downstairs, running along the corridor to the library and racing up the spiral staircase. He paused, mentally recalibrating, before studying the wall in question. Spinning around, he leaned over the bannister, eyeing the entrance to the library on the floor below before turning back to the wall and studying it.

Sure enough, above where the door on the floor below below, the shelves were shallower than on the rest of the wall. 

“Okay. You are that clichéd.” 

Standing in front of the section of shelving, Steve couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary suggesting it hid a door, nothing except the shelves that were only half the depth of the rest of the library. So he began running his hands over them, seeking something, anything, that could help him figure out how the hell to open this damn door.

(Because it _was_ a door. Of that he was certain.)

Suddenly, something clicked and the bookcase inched towards him.

“Yes!” Steve grinned, hauling the door open and stepping into- “Nothing. There’s nothing here,” he growled, spinning around just in case he’d missed something on the empty white walls.

His heart sank, and the feeling of failure he’d been fighting off came crashing in. Maybe he was just looking for something that didn’t exist, some new mystery to solve since he’d failed so spectacularly elsewhere. 

Except… That alcove made no sense. It wasn’t even an alcove, just a section of wall set back two inches for no obvious reason.

Unless.

His heart pounding in his ears, Steve walked towards the alcove and pushed his full weight against the wall. There was a click and it swung open, sending Steve stumbling forward into…

An office.

“Not what I expected,” Steve admitted.

He moved slowly into the room. If Howard’s grotto in the basement was chaos, this was the opposite. It was almost fanatically neat; with one glance, Steve could tell that there was a place for everything and everything was in its place. He could also tell that this room hadn’t been touched since the Starks left the house on the day of their death. 

Particles of dust floated in the air, casting tiny shadows on the carpet as the sunlight streamed through the window, fading the pictures on the wall. Steve moved closer, studying the pictures of dolphins and whales and starfish and seabirds. This was Maria Stark’s office, he realised, staring at the map of the world with tiny pins dotted across the oceans. There was obviously some kind of meaning to the different colours of pins, that much was clear from the cluster of green pins near Greenland and the orange pins dotted around Louisiana and Florida, but Steve had no chance of figuring it out. Pulling open the filing cabinet, Steve found row after row of drop files, each one meticulously labelled in impeccable handwriting. The whole room spoke of a highly organised mind.

As creepy as Howard’s office was with its window into the pool, this room made Steve’s skin crawl much more. He had no desire to linger here any longer than he had to. He was ready to leave when he noticed the door in the opposite corner of the room.

He hesitated.

Part of him wanted to get out of here, return to the pool and try to talk to Tony. But something else told him to investigate this door, that there was something he needed to see behind it. Which was ridiculous, because how could he possibly know what was in there without looking? It was probably just a storage room or a bathroom. The house had a ridiculous amount of bathrooms, after all.

Shaking his head at his own ridiculousness, Steve crossed the room, leaving footprints in the dusty carpet, and pushed open the door.

It wasn’t a bathroom.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

Steve stared in horror at the pictures lining the wall, each one showing in graphic detail the dissection of a mer. Pressing his hand to his mouth and fighting the urge to throw up, Steve turned towards the other walls, hoping they would contain something less horrifying. There were reports and maps and more pictures, all providing the evidence needed to prove the existence of mers.

He had to destroy this. There was no way he could leave this information where anyone could find it. If he could figure out there was a hidden doorway, then someone else could too.

“It all goes,” Steve murmured. 

He glanced back at the photos of the mer until the bile began to rise in his throat again. _Who were they?_ he wondered, as he began to tear the papers from the wall. _Had Tony known them?_

It took him hours to carry all the files downstairs, dumping them into the old oil drum he’d dragged into the hallway and setting them alight. At first, Steve planned on simply destroying the pages on mers, but then he wondered what else Maria Stark had hidden away in there and his skin crawled again. So he decided to just burn everything. That was the only way he could guarantee Tony’s safety. 

He stopped for lunch, wiping the sweat and soot from his forehead with his shirt and sat with his feet in the pool as he ate a sandwich, hoping Tony might appear to talk to him. No such luck. 

So he got back to work. He told himself that doing even this little thing to protect Tony was enough. He was doing what he could, and that was all that mattered. 

It didn’t help. 

Eventually, all of Maria Stark’s papers were gone, the final batch smouldering in the bottom of the oil drum. Steve returned to the office one last time, glancing around the now empty walls and drawers just in case he’d missed anything. Then he left the room, pulling both hidden doors closed behind him, double checking they were properly shut before making his way downstairs. 

His mind was occupied with Tony, alternating between trying to figure out how to get Tony out of here and how to make Tony feel better, so he didn’t realise he wasn’t alone until a voice called out, “You’ve been busy, Mr Rogers.”

Steve jumped, his head snapping up, and his eyes fell on Obadiah Stane, standing on the other side of the smoking oil drum.

For a moment, Steve thought he was dreaming. The image of Obadiah Stane in his designer suit and shiny tie pin standing in the decay of the Stark Mansion didn’t seem real. But then Stane chuckled and Steve’s heart began to hammer in his throat.

“Mr Stane. What are, uh, what are you doing here?” Steve stammered. 

“I think we both know,” Stane replied. “And unlike you, I won’t insult your intelligence by pretending we don’t know exactly what’s going on here.”

Steve’s eyes flickered around the room, assessing which door would be his best chance of escape. The corridor to the library was closest but a dead end. He could cut through the kitchens, but it was a risk. Stane was closer to the hall that would take him to the pool. And the front door was locked shut behind Steve.

“I don’t know how you found out about our mutual friend,” Stane continued, “But I knew there was something… fishy about you when you showed up at the party. A suspicion you confirmed when you turned up in my office with Sharon. Shame you involved her in all this. Now she has to die too.”

Steve clenched his fists, grinding his teeth together at the threat against his friend. He felt sick, wondering what Stane would do if he realised how many people were involved; not just Sharon but Rhodey and Bruce too. None of them deserved this. They didn’t choose to be part of this, they were simply dragged into this mess by Steve and his stubborn determination to rush head first into any situation that looked vaguely dangerous with little regard for himself or those around him. 

“I built this company from nothing,” Stane declared. “And nothing is going to stand in my way. Least of all that fish.”

“Don’t call him that!” Steve snapped and instantly regretted it, because Stane’s eyes lit up. He’d just told Stane exactly which button to push if he wanted to get at Steve. 

“He got to you too, huh?” Stane smirked. “Don’t know what it is, but there’s something about that fish that messes with people’s minds, stops ‘em from seeing straight. Howard, he was all but gone after Arno died. But Maria? She was always the smart one. Even she couldn’t see past him though. She could’ve been famous, if only she’d had the guts to put him where he belonged: in a zoo.”

“Instead, they gave him the company,” Steve retorted. “You didn’t like that, did you? All those years you worked for them, and they chose Tony over you.” He laughed. “Oh, I wish I coulda seen your face when you read the will and found out they left everything to him.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Stane replied. “I made sure he never saw any of it. And I’ll make sure you never tell anyone what you know.”

“Too late,” Steve lied. “My best friend’s a journalist for the New York Times. James Barnes. Look him up. I told him everything. You’re too late. You lost.”

“Did I?” Stane said softly and Steve’s skin prickled. 

He had to get out of here. But not without Tony. 

Steve eyed the distance between himself and Stane, and Stane and the door. He decided it was worth the risk. He and Stane were about the same height, and although Stane was broader, Steve was fast. High school track team fast. He could make it. 

He sprinted towards the door, was almost there when Stane’s hand clamped around his wrist like a vice with a strength that almost yanked him off of his feet. Maybe if Steve had ever taken Bucky up on his offer of lessons on how to fight, he could’ve held his own. But he’d always preferred to rely on his wits and the knowledge that Bucky would be there to back him up. And Stane, it seemed, knew what he was doing; he kept moving, dragging Steve along as he turned this way then that, disorientating Steve and making it impossible for him to get free.

That didn’t stop him from trying. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Stane laughed.

“Get off of me!”

“I don’t think we’re done here just yet.”

Steve growled and tried to yank himself free, which only resulted in a painful burn on his arm. He was so busy trying to get free that he completely missed Stane’s hand coming up until it smacked into the side of his head and sent him spinning. Steve stumbled away but Stane still had hold of his arm. His head was spinning and his shoulder ached and he fell to his knees.

“Time to go see an old friend,” Stane snapped, yanking Steve towards the hall.

Stane half-dragged, half-carried Steve through the corridors. It took everything Steve had just to try and get his feet under him again, only for Stane to toss him to the ground by the pool. His elbow cracked against the hard tile, leaving his arm tingling and numb.

“Tony!” Stane bellowed. “Get out here!”

“Tony, don’t!” Steve yelled and Stane’s boot connected with his jaw. “Fuck!” 

Steve spat the coppery blood from his mouth, glowering up at Stane. Loathing for this man filled him from head to toe. Ignoring the pain in his jaw and his wrist and his arm, Steve struggled to his feet.

“Don’t you know when to stay down?” Stane shook his head.

Steve laughed bitterly. “I can do this all day.”

He threw himself at Stane, but Stane twisted out of the way, grabbing Steve by the hair. He yanked Steve’s head back while punching his fist into his gut. Steve gasped, falling to the ground again, narrowly avoiding slamming his face into the floor. 

“How ironic,” Stane chuckled. “In trying to protect Tony from me, you reminded me of his existence. Until now, I was perfectly happy to leave him here. Then you came along and reminded me why that was a terrible idea. And why I should’ve killed that fish years ago.”

“Don’t call him that,” Steve hissed, pushing himself up onto his elbows. 

Stane kicked him in the side, sending Steve sliding across the tile. Gasping for breath, Steve tried to push himself up again, but his arms trembled and his muscles screamed. When he lifted his head, he saw the top of Tony’s head breaking the water.

No.

Their eyes met and Steve shook his head, silently begging Tony to go, to hide, to let Steve take Stane’s attention. Not that there was anywhere for Tony to go. 

Stane’s footsteps echoed heavily in the silence, punctuated only by Steve’s harsh breathing, his boots crunching on the broken tile and grit. Steve raised his head, determined to remain defiant even in defeat.

“Fuck you!” he spat and a fire burned in his veins as he realised _I don’t want to die_.

But Stane just laughed.

Something shot out of the water, smacking the back of Stane’s neck. Stane whirled around with a glare until he spotted Tony in the middle of the pool.

“Very clever, Tony,” Stane smirked. “It’s been a long time.”

“Not long enough,” Tony replied. “Leave him alone. You want me? I’m right here. Come and get me.”

“You wouldn’t believe how long I’ve spent thinking about this moment,” Stane mused. “Can’t quite believe it’s here. I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time, ever since I saw that will. Goddamn Howard.”

“Yeah, Howard was great at fucking people over,” Tony agreed.

Steve’s eyes flickered between them like he was watching a tennis match; Stane walked slowly along the outline of the pool while Tony remained in the middle of the water, watching Stane with narrowed eyes. He was watching a predator at work, Steve realised.

Then Tony turned a little, following Stane, and something glinted below the surface, catching the light from one of the stray beams of sunlight sneaking their way into the room. 

Steve frowned.

Then his eyes widened in realisation, and his head snapped down, glancing at his leg where the scar from Tony’s knife was visible through the rip in his jeans. 

His heart pounded. 

Looking back at Stane, Steve realised Stane was purposely staying far enough away from the edge of the pool that Tony couldn’t reach him. How could he get Stane to move closer to the water? There had to be a way, there _had_ to be.

Spotting his backpack a few feet away, Steve was hit by a flash of inspiration. Moving as slowly as possible to avoid drawing Stane’s attention, Steve reached out slowly, gritting his teeth, every fibre of his body objecting as he stretched out until his fingers snagged his backpack. He tugged it closer, just enough to reach into the front pocket and wrap his fingers around his phone and pull it free. With another quick glance at Stane to confirm his attention was still on Tony - monologuing, no doubt about how he was going to hurt Tony or Steve or both; Steve tuned him out - Steve sat up slowly, shuffling closer to the edge of the pool. Double checking the sound was on and the volume up full, Steve raised his phone and snapped a picture of Stane.

The fake shutter sound echoed, cutting off Stane’s tirade and instantly drawing his attention to Steve.

“Smile,” Steve grinned. His phone whooshed as he hit send on the picture. He’d emailed it to himself, but Stane didn’t need to know that. Hitting record, Steve added, “Don’t let me interrupt.”

“You…” 

Stane marched towards him, crossing the room quickly with long strides. Steve gritted his teeth, fighting the urge that told him to _move, dammit!_ Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tony disappear underwater, but he didn’t look round, didn’t dare. He kept looking at Stane, pain shooting through him as his muscles seized. 

Stane drew back his arm; Steve flinched. 

He closed his eyes but instead of another blow, he was hit by a wave of water. 

When he opened his eyes again, Stane was gone but the pool water churned violently. Steve scrambled away from the edge, his eyes fixed on the mess of limbs only vaguely visible through the foam and spray.

 _Tony_.

Steve longed to cry out but he didn’t dare. He couldn’t risk distracting Tony.

A red cloud appeared in the water, tendrils snaking out across the pool and Steve felt like he was going to throw up. He clutched his phone, the edge of the plastic case digging into his fingers, but he couldn’t think of anything but the refrain of _Tony Tony Tony_ running through his mind. 

The water grew calm, and a body floated towards the surface, red still seeping out from it.

Stane.

Steve’s chest heaved as he gasped for breath.

“Tony? Tony!” 

Another shape moved beneath the surface, breaking through a few feet away, and Steve let out a sob of relief at the sight of Tony’s face. He jumped to his feet, limping towards the steps and began climbing into the pool, heedless of his boots or his jeans. Tony swam up to him and Steve reached for him and Tony’s hands were outstretched until finally Steve could touch him, his fingers digging into Tony’s shoulders.

“Are you okay?” Tony demanded. He cupped Steve’s cheek, his hands cool against Steve’s skin. “Steve? Steve, what did he do to you?”

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Steve stammered. “Are you, did he-”

Tony shook his head and Steve couldn’t have kept himself from lunging forward and hugging Tony even if he’d wanted to. Tony’s arms immediately wrapped around him, the water seeping through Steve’s t-shirt from Tony’s body. Over Tony’s shoulder, Steve could see Obadiah Stane’s body floating in the middle of the pool, so he buried his face into Tony’s neck, breathing in the smell of the water and carding his fingers through Tony’s hair just in case he was thinking of going anywhere.

They remained there, in the shallows of the pool, clinging to each other until their heart rates returned to normal. 

Steve pulled back, not completely, just enough to see Tony, and for a second he thought Tony’s eyes flickered towards his lips before dismissing it as wishful thinking. 

“We gotta get you out of here,” Steve said shakily. “There’s a car down by the generator. I’m going to get it and I’m getting you out of here now.”

“Okay,” Tony nodded, reluctantly releasing Steve. His hands dragged over Steve’s waist and arms as he climbed out of the water.

Despite knowing time was against them, Steve lingered in the doorway, staring back at Tony and holding his gaze for a good minute before finally tearing himself away.

Steve ran through the garden until he reached the outbuildings. Grabbing a brush, he pushed the worst of the dust and leaves off of the old Nissan he’d spotted when he went searching for the generator. He found the keys hanging on a hook inside and, after some searching, found a set of jumper cables. Pulling out his phone, Steve did a quick search to check if he could jumpstart a car from the generator, feeling a wave of relief when he discovered that he could. Connecting up the jumper cables to the generator, he hurried back outside, unlocking the car and reaching into the passenger side to pop the hood. 

A quick consultation on the internet later, and he had the jumper cables connected. Climbing into the driver’s seat, Steve waited a few minutes, his heart pounding. His hand trembled against the wheel. 

Saying a silent prayer, Steve put the key in the ignition. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned it.

The car spluttered and wheezed and his heart sank. But then it coughed once more and the engine roared into life.

“Oh fuck!” Steve exclaimed in relief. “Thank you, thank you, oh, thank God.”

He left the car running to remove the jumper cables. Then he drove the car up the driveway, parking it as close to the terrace as possible. The engine still running, Steve climbed into the back to toss the junk left there into the trunk so Tony would be as comfortable as possible.

He faltered.

This was it. He was going to say goodbye to Tony, and then he would never see him again. Tears blurred his vision and Steve hung his head for a moment, letting his grief wash over him.

Then he exhaled slowly, climbed out of the car, and ran back inside. Tony was waiting on the edge of the pool, his mismatched eyes inscrutable as he watched Steve run across the room to his backpack. Tossing everything into it, Steve swung his bag onto his back then turned to Tony.

“Ready to get out of here?”

“Yeah,” Tony nodded.

A small smile spread across his face and suddenly Steve didn’t care about his own feelings. It didn’t matter, because Tony would be free.

“Let’s go then.”

His bruised and battered body objected loudly to lifting two hundred pounds of mer and carrying him from the house to the idling car, but Steve ignored the shooting pain. He eased Tony into the back seat, waiting while Tony tucked in his tail before helping him pull on a seatbelt. The last thing he needed was to get stopped for not wearing a seatbelt with a mer in the backseat. Steve was just praying there were no bored traffic cops who would decide to look up the number plate and realise the car had been off the road for ten years and definitely did not have insurance. 

“Okay,” Steve exhaled, climbing into the driver’s seat. “I think I know a beach that should be pretty quiet. It’s about a forty minute drive, but I’ll go as fast as I can.”

“No, wait,” Tony shook his head.

Steve twisted in his seat, staring at Tony as though he’d gone crazy.

But Tony met his gaze head on, determination written in his eyes. “There’s something we need to do first.”


	11. Chapter 11

“Hi, Foggy Nelson, from Nelson and Murdock?” a voice called, distorted by the speaker on the buzzer. “I have an appointment to see Steve Rogers and… Tony Stark?”

“Uh, yeah, come on up,” Steve replied, hitting the button to buzz the lawyer in. “Second floor.”

Steve moved to the door, straightening his shirt and wishing he’d managed to find the iron before the lawyer arrived so he looked at least somewhat professional. A hysterical laugh bubbled up in his throat as the insanity of what he was about to do hit him. He glanced in the mirror to double check the hastily applied foundation - Sharon’s, left in the bathroom from when she spent the night with Rhodey - covered the bruises from his fight with Stane, then opened the door as soon as a knock echoed through the apartment.

“Hi, Mr Nelson?” Steve smiled. Did his voice sound weird? Or had it always sounded like that? “Come on in.”“Thank you,” Foggy Nelson replied, shaking Steve’s hand. “Mr Rogers, I presume?”

“Yes. And this is Mr Stark,” Steve nodded, leading the way towards the dining table, where Tony sat in a shirt and blazer borrowed from Rhodey and a blanket wrapped around his tail. Fuck, there was no way they could get away with this.

“Foggy Nelson, pleasure to meet you, Mr Stark.”

“And you,” Tony replied, shaking Foggy’s hand with an easy smile. How could he look so calm and natural? That laugh tried to work its way free from Steve’s throat again. He buried it with a cough.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked the lawyer. “Coffee? Tea? Water?” His eyes flickered traitorously towards Tony when he said water and he found Tony watching him with barely contained amusement. Steve realised he would have to stop looking at Tony or there was no way he was going to make it through this without laughing until he cried. 

This whole situation was insane.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Foggy replied. “So what can I help you with? You said something on the phone about transferring ownership of your company? I gotta admit, I’m a little confused why I’m here and not one of the Stark Industries lawyers?”

“To be blunt, because I’m not sure I can trust them,” Tony replied. “My CFO has been running the company since my parents died and I’ve started to suspect that he isn’t putting the best interests of the company first. I have health problems that prevent me from running the company myself. Which is why I’ve decided I’d like my good friend, Steve, to take over. I want to put my shares in both our names to give us joint ownership of the company, and make Steve CEO. I trust Steve will do what is best for the company my father built from nothing. And what is best for the employees of that company.” Tony glanced at him, something soft and unreadable in his eyes. “He’s a good man. He can do what I can’t.”

Steve took a shaky breath. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat. At least with Tony’s lie about his health, the lawyer could write off any emotion Steve was showing as fear of losing his friend. 

“We actually have some papers drawn up by a lawyer at Stark Industries, but I’d like you to check them over before we sign anything,” Tony added, sliding the forms Stane had hidden in the ghost drive across the table, only now Stane’s name had been replaced with Steve’s. 

Foggy read through the papers carefully, then said, "Actually, Mr Rogers, could I take that glass of water after all?" 

"Sure," Steve nodded, heading to the kitchen and filling a glass. He heard a quiet murmur of voices behind him, and caught sight of Foggy leaning close to Tony in the reflection on the glass doors of the kitchen cabinets. "Here you are."

"Thank you," Foggy smiled, sitting back. He took a sip before announcing, “Everything looks in order here. If you two want to sign, I can witness it and then get these filed, and the company will be yours. Mr Stark?” Foggy held out a pen.

Tony took the pen, signing an approximation of the false signature Stane had used for the past ten years. He was surprisingly good at forgery, Steve thought hysterically. Then Tony held out the pen to him. Swallowing, Steve stepped forward and took the pen, his fingers brushing Tony’s, before leaning down and signing his name.

They watched Foggy sign as a witness, then he smiled and wished them well, promising again to have the papers filed by the end of the day as he left. Steve closed the door behind him then burst out laughing.

“That is the craziest thing I’ve ever done!” he gasped, leaning on the table.

“Same, but I’ve been stuck in a pool for the last twenty years,” Tony grinned.

Steve laughed, shaking his head. Relief flooded his veins as he realised they’d done it. The company was theirs.

“Congratulations,” Tony said softly. “You’re CEO of one of the biggest companies in the world.”

“Holy shit.”

“Did you forget that was what we were doing?” Tony teased.

“No, I… I guess I was so focused on getting away with it that I never thought… I own a company,” Steve realised. “Tony, I know nothing about running a business - any business, let alone one this big.”

“You’ll do great,” Tony smiled. “I know it.”

“I’m gonna make you proud,” Steve promised.

“Of course you will. I never thought otherwise.”

It would be so easy to lean across the table and kiss Tony, but Steve knew that wasn’t fair. But, God, he wanted to. 

_I love you._

“Let’s get you out of here,” Steve whispered. “Time for you to enjoy some freedom.”

Tony nodded, throwing him a smile, and Steve wondered if he was the only one struggling to speak. 

* * *

The beach was a small cove west of Malibu. Steve had visited it once, almost a year ago, during his month of bed surfing with a guy whose name was lost to time and tequila. But Steve remembered him saying that the beach was popular at night but largely deserted during the day. Steve was relieved to find this was true; there was no one in sight when he pulled up at the edge of the sand, climbing out of the car and scanning the horizon. 

“Okay,” he said, opening the backseat. 

Tony unclipped the seatbelt then reached up, wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck. Steve heaved him out of the car, walking as quickly as possible down the sand to the tiny wooden pier. He sat down gingerly, easing Tony onto the pier, and sat back.“Here we are,” Steve announced, forcing a smile and swallowing his tears.

“Here we are,” Tony echoed. “Steve… I don’t know how to thank you.”

“I mean, you did just give me your company. And your house. And a lot of money,” Steve pointed out, smiling at the weak joke. 

“You saved my life.”

“I only did what anyone would’ve done.”

“Not anyone,” Tony shook his head. “You are… You’re something, Steve Rogers.”

“Something good, I hope?”

“Definitely.”

Anyone could turn up at the beach at any moment, but they both lingered. Steve was in no hurry to say goodbye, despite knowing the danger, and it seemed like Tony felt the same way. Or maybe he was just indulging Steve. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Who did you lose?”

Steve sucked in a breath, staring out across the waves, watching them roll across the sand for several minutes before he could reply. Grief bubbled in his throat, threatening to choke him.

“My mom.”

“Steve,” Tony whispered. “Don’t be alone. You don’t deserve it. Promise me.”

“I’m gonna try. Goodbye Tony,” Steve said, managing a smile for him. “Enjoy your life. You deserve it.”

“Thanks,” Tony nodded. “You too.”

“Yeah. I’ll do my best.”

“That’s good enough.” 

The lump in Steve’s throat pressed painfully on his vocal cords, but he kept smiling for Tony’s sake. 

“Well,” Tony began. “Time to go, I guess.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. Big ocean out there. Lots to explore.”

Tony hummed and nodded, turning towards the horizon. _Don’t go_ , Steve thought, but he swallowed the words. 

Tony smiled at him, then murmured, “Bye Steve.”

“Bye,” Steve echoed. He watched Tony shuffle towards the edge of the pier, then blurted out, “I’ll miss you.”

Tony paused, glancing over his shoulder, then said, “I’ll miss you too.”

They stared at each other and again Steve thought, _Don’t go_. But then they heard an engine in the parking lot and the moment broke.

“Bye,” Tony whispered, then he slipped into water and he was gone.

“Bye,” Steve called. 

He sat on the pier, staring out to sea, hoping for some sign, a final sight of Tony, but there was nothing. Tony was gone. He was home, back where he belonged. Steve had fulfilled his promise. 

Climbing to his feet, Steve dusted himself off. He winced as he made his way back up to the car, as what felt like half the sand on the beach snuck its way into his sneakers. At the edge of the sand, Steve turned back, taking one final look at the sea. 

Then he climbed into the car and drove away.

* * *

Steve accepted Rhodey and Sharon’s invite to dinner but he let them carry the conversation. He knew he should participate or tell them that technically he was their new boss, but reality was sinking in and he’d realised that he would never see Tony again.

“You okay?” Rhodey asked as they walked back from the Mexican restaurant.

“Yeah, fine,” Steve smiled. “Just… Long day.”

“Hey, what happened to your face?” Rhodey asked. “You look like you went a couple of rounds with Mike Tyson.”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve chuckled. “Uh. Let’s just say I had a disagreement with someone.”

“Looks more like they kicked your ass.”

“Nah,” Steve replied. “I could do that all day.”

“Right,” Rhodey rolled his eyes. He swung his arm around Steve’s shoulders. “Come on, slugger.”

When they arrived home, Steve bid Rhodey a goodnight and retreated to his bedroom. Pulling out his phone, he flicked through his open tabs until he found the contact page for Dr. Helen Cho. Slowly, painstakingly, he filled out his details in the form, putting in everything he didn’t want to admit to but knew he needed to deal with. Then, without a second thought, he hit send. Instantly his phone informed him that he had a new email from Dr. Helen Cho, which thanked him for his enquiry and explained that someone would be in touch as soon as possible and that if it was an emergency he should call 911. 

Steve set an alarm for the following morning, knowing it would be a long day. He would have to call Foggy to check the papers had gone through, and then he had to figure out how the hell he was going to run an entire company and weed out all of Stane’s cronies from SI. He hoped he’d get a chance to give Bucky a call too; they hadn’t caught up in a while and Steve missed him. 

Climbing into bed, Steve closed his eyes and drifted off to the sound of waves upon the beach. 


	12. Chapter 12

Steve climbed out of the car, closed his eyes and tipped his head back, letting the wind blowing off of the ocean wash over him and blow away the lingering tension from his therapy session. He breathed in the smell of the ocean and the seaweed, listening to the caws of the gulls swooping overhead.

He smiled.

The past few weeks had been a whirlwind, between taking over the company, the investigation into Stane’s death when his body was found by a group of urban explorers, and starting therapy with Dr. Cho. Steve’s head was spinning. Whenever he needed to take some time out and just breathe, he went to the beach. Any beach, preferably one that didn’t have too many people around, clinging to his last thread of connection with Tony.

Before, he would’ve gone up to the Stark Mansion to sit on the terrace, his feet dangling in the pool, but it was being demolished. Steve had decided, once the investigation was over, to tear it down. Architects and fans objected, but Steve was adamant. There were too many ghosts trapped in those walls. He would never live there and he couldn’t sell it, couldn’t bear the thought of _anyone_ living there, so he’d made the decision: the house would go, and then the land could be sold. Privately, he’d decided the money from the sale would go to Bruce’s new conservation project. After all, Steve didn’t need the money, not anymore. 

Steve reached into the backseat, grabbing his sketchpad and pencils before fighting to get the car to lock. Rhodey kept telling him that he should buy a new car now that he was a billionaire - literally - but Steve hadn’t quite managed to get round to it. And it was only partly because his head was still spinning at the idea of being a billionaire. He preferred to spend his free time searching out good causes to donate some of his money to, focusing on marine conservation and child abuse because it felt fitting. 

Making his way down the beach, Steve kicked off his flip flops, abandoning them on the sand before wading into the shallows, negotiating his way across the rocks to one that stuck up above the waves. Steve sat down, flicking open his sketchpad to the latest picture of Tony and continued shading in his tail. 

One of his biggest regrets was the fact that he had no photos of Tony, but he’d decided it was just too dangerous. He’d gone through the Stark Mansion, destroying every photo of Tony. He wouldn’t have kept those even if he’d wanted to; Tony looked miserable in every single one. That wasn’t how Steve wanted to remember him. He wanted to remember Tony’s smile, his laughter and delight when he teased Steve. 

Steve smiled.

Finishing his sketch of Tony, Steve flicked to a new page, but the blank white expanse was strangely intimidating as always. He stared at the coastline, drinking in the cliffs and crags and the waves breaking against the rocks and an idea began to form. Bending over the page, Steve let his pencil sketch out an outline. Slowly the design and the idea took shape, and Steve found himself smiling at the idea.

“That looks interesting.”

“Holy shit!” Steve exclaimed, leaping away from the voice in his ear. His head whipped around and his jaw dropped. “Tony?”

Tony grinned at him. “Hi Steve.”

Steve stared at him, unable to believe that Tony was really here. His fingers itched to reach out and touch him, to check that yes, Tony was here and real and Steve didn’t need to make an emergency call to Dr. Cho about his impending mental breakdown. 

“You gave me a fucking heart attack,” Steve snapped. “I save your life, and this is how you repay me?”

“I think you’ll find I saved your life first,” Tony pointed out, his eyes sparkling.

Steve shook his head, a smile spreading across his face despite his efforts to stop it. Because Tony was right, of course. He was always right. “What are you doing here? I thought you were going home. Or to explore.”

“Well, I was. I mean. That was the plan,” Tony agreed, staring out towards the horizon. “And I was, uh, somewhere around San Francisco when I realised that the last time I was around other mers I was five. I’ve spent most of my life around humans. I know their customs and their habits better than my own species’. I could be human if it wasn’t for…”

“The giant scaly fish tail?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Tony nodded with a smile. “I’m too mer to be human, but I’m too human to be mer. I don’t belong with either species.”

Steve frowned. His heart broke a little for Tony, looking so lonely. Yet again, he cursed Howard and Maria Stark for condemning Tony to this existence against his will. 

“I’m so sorry, Tony.”

Tony flashed him a strained smile. “Yeah. But then I started thinking. Wondering. If I’d ever felt like I belonged anywhere. And I realised, the only time I felt like I belonged was when I was with you.”

Steve trembled. His traitorous heart jumped, beating expectantly, but Steve told himself that it didn’t mean anything. Tony didn’t, _couldn’t_ mean what Steve hoped he meant. Even if he was looking at him that way, the same way Rhodey looked at Sharon sometimes, like she was the most wonderful person in the world.

“You never asked me to be mer or human,” Tony continued. “You never tried to change me. You just wanted- Well, maybe not wanted, but. I mean-”

“Tony,” Steve interrupted. “Is there a point?”

Tony swallowed. “How much would you hate me if I kissed you?”

“Not even a little bit,” Steve whispered.

“Good,” Tony whispered back. 

They stared at each other. Then Tony’s hand was on the back of his neck and Steve’s breath caught, allowing Tony to draw him in. His eyes flickered down to Tony’s lips and he noticed droplets of water caught in his facial hair. When Steve looked up again, he saw there were even tiny drops in his eyelashes, which made him smile. Tony huffed quietly and Steve’s face flushed and then they were kissing.

It was soft and hesitant and sent shivers down Steve’s spine and most importantly, over far too soon.

When Tony tried to move back, Steve chased his lips, his hand coming up to grip onto Tony’s shoulder just in case he was thinking about slipping away. Tony let out a low chuckle that was unfairly attractive, and then his lips were back on Steve’s.

When they finally broke apart, Steve rested his forehead against Tony’s, trying to catch his breath and calm the fuck down.

“That was worth waiting for,” he murmured.

“You were waiting for me to kiss you?” Tony asked. “I thought you hated me.”

“I changed my mind,” Steve smiled. “I thought you hated me.”

“I hate humans,” Tony corrected.

“I’m human.”

“I’m willing to make an exception on a case by case basis,” Tony whispered, stroking Steve’s cheek with his thumb, and the look in his eyes was so intense, so full of… something that Steve was almost afraid to name after only two kisses that he had to lean forward and make it three.

“I hope this isn’t how you plan to make any future exceptions,” Steve teased. “Because I enjoy this method, but I don’t think I’d appreciate it being used on anyone else.”

“Fair enough,” Tony laughed. He ran his hand back and forth over Steve’s collarbone as though he was never planning on letting go. Steve was surprisingly okay with that. “I have no idea how we’re going to do this,” Tony admitted.

“I… might have an idea.”

“I’m all ears.”

Steve picked up his sketchpad again, letting Tony look at what he’d started working on. “It’s a house. A design for a house. One that you could come and go from. And instead of being below floor level, you’d be on the level with… me.”

Because he’d finally figured out what it was about the pool that made it so hateful - or perhaps more accurately, one of the things which made it so hateful. There were a lot. Steve had a list. In the pool, Tony was constantly reminded of his place below humans. He was always looked down on, physically and metaphorically, as though he was somehow less worthy than the humans surrounding him. In his mind, Steve could see a house where the floor was level with the bottom of the pool, with rivers snaking between rooms, giving Tony unrestricted access and making him part of everything.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

“I like the idea of being on the level with you,” Tony smiled and Steve had to lean in and steal another kiss.

“I mean, I’m not an architect, but it works as a concept,” Steve shrugged. “We’d just need to find the right place on the coast to build it.”

Tony smiled.

“I think I know just the place. Follow me.”

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented, left kudos, and read this fic. A special shoutout has to go to those readers who commented on every single chapter - thank you all so much! ❤️
> 
> I have some ideas for more stories in this verse so who knows, I might return to it one day. 
> 
> (PS sorry if you got a notification about this chapter yesterday. The "post" and "preview" buttons are right next to each other and I hit the wrong one when checking the html)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr as [weethreequarter](https://weethreequarter.tumblr.com) so feel free to come and chat.


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